The Adventure of a Lifetime
by The Lord Of The Words
Summary: The story of a young man, spending his years in a quiet farming town, finally stepping forth onto the road of adventure. No doubt perils lurk ahead, friends to meet, maidens to rescue, and maybe a world to save? Perhaps all this and more!
1. An Adventurer Born

**Author's Note: Okay, here's the skinny people. I first wrote this story, what I've been posting so far anyways, like...I don't know, five years ago. And comparatively to my writing nowadays, it was pretty lousy. So, as this was my first real attempt at writing back then, I've got a bit of a soft spot for it and decided to rewrite the story, fixing it up and turning it into an exciting adventure that isn't painful to read. So, any critique would be appreciated, good or bad, as long as its constructive. Thanks for reading as always, and until next time, good luck and good hunting...**

The Adventure of a Lifetime

**Chapter 1:** An Adventurer Born

The tops of the trees swayed; the light breeze of the morning made their gnarled limbs creak, the rustling of the sea of leaves was soft and calming, like the steady rhythm of the ocean's waves. Somewhere deep within the foliage, a bird sang, chirping its merry song, perhaps proclaiming its joy through vivacious melodies. Sunlight from the clear faultless sky above shone down upon the canopy of branches, thin rays of golden light seeping through to glisten upon the soft soil of the ground.

In short, the atmosphere of the forest was soft and alluring, its peaceful image inviting one to enter its shaded embrace, to frolic amongst the stout tree trunks and to revel in the wonders of nature. Though truly, it was an ingenious masquerade. The forest was far larger than one could suppose, stretching on and on, league after league of endless vegetation.

And the further and deeper one went, the more they began to understand their situation. Creatures other than playful squirrels and flamboyant songbirds resided within those woods. The sort that would instill fear and pain upon any who encountered them. There was a hidden darkness lurking amid the everlasting trees, most certainly invisible from the sparkling and impeccable exterior.

Many folks were fooled by this subterfuge, lured in by the joviality of the outside, drawn deep into the shadows mired in its depths. Most of these poor souls did not wander back out again. Others were wiser, knowing full well of the perils that lurked in the gloom, approaching and entering with eyes open, prepared for treachery and no small amount of risk. Many of these too, never emerged. A fearsome place, that forest, making hearty and stalwart men wary and few would dare to enter such a place willingly, unless great need or sheer desperation spurred them on.

Yet below these trees, stepping amongst them, having entered the forest from the western-most border stood a figure, casting a long shadow into the dim radiance of the forest's edge, undeterred by the possibility of fiends prowling within. A man, though a youthful one at that, perhaps twenty or so years young, who stood at an impressive eight spans tall, perhaps a bit more. His complexion was that of paleness, not the ghostly white of the dead like one who had spent their entire life in a cave, yet far from a vibrant tan.

Slender was his build, his frame not gaunt or bony, but neither was it stout or broad. His arms, which poked out from a basic tunic of wool and cotton as well as a sturdy worn piece of armor made of leather, were narrow, but there was unmistakable sinewy muscle clinging along them, almost strategically placed to give him a more solid appearance.

Gleaming midnight black hair ran down his neck, touching his shoulders, flowing in a straight yet stylish wave. Eyes that were a crystalline sapphire, with a captivating gleam, the sort that latched on to a person's intrigue with but a glance and drew them in deep. At his side hung a sword, a graceful arching brass hilt, the handle wrapped in tightly bound leather that looked almost primeval. The scabbard too looked battered by time and use, a bit strange really, such a weathered weapon in the possession of someone who had the air of an inexperienced youth.

He was stern-faced; his mouth straight, his eyes set, as he scanned the seemingly harmless illusion of tranquility before him. Yet despite his near somber nature, there within the depths of his eyes glimmered a wild spark of excitement, which began to spread to his other features. His mouth shifted into a small smile, which grew larger and broader until it became a full fledged grin, as his gaze darted to and fro, soaking up his surroundings in depth, something about it was obviously tickling him, for he looked neither worried or afraid. Rather…thrilled and captivated. It takes a rare sort of man to stare unflinchingly straight into the maw of danger. And indeed, this chap was a far cry from average. More so than even he guessed…

Sophonus drew the fresh salty ocean scented air one last time, before striding forward, passing the threshold of the trees, entering the forest for the first time in his life. As he let his eyes wander, traveling back and forth, absorbing all that lay before him, he could not help it when a huge grin began to slither across his face; the realization of his freedom, that the day he had dreamed of had at last come, began to drive itself home. _This is it,_ he said to himself, trying to steady his quickened heart, _I'm really doing it…I can't believe it…I'm…I…I feel…so alive…_

Nearly jittering straight out of his armor in anticipation, he calmed himself, breathing slowly and began to examine the atmosphere of the woods with more interest. All around were tall trees, easily seventy spans high or more, clumped tightly together, creating a huge hallway of leaves and branches. The ground was covered in shade, making the forest far cooler than outside in the full force of the mighty sun. A welcome change indeed. And quiet. At home, the constant waves of the nearby sea prevented the village from ever being totally silent. Yet away from the reaches of the ocean, this place was almost sullen and calm. Despite that however, he still felt exhilaration at all that he surveyed.

Though his near awed wonderment suggested otherwise, Sophonus had traveled in woods before, certainly, cavorting through them in his carefree childhood and hectic adolescence. But this was different…_this_ was the forbidden woods, the Newcraven Forest, the one he and all other children from his village had been warned to steer clear of. Tales of greedy child-hungry monsters and nameless terrors that would all but pull a careless youngster to their horrific doom were but a few of the terrible stories he had been told in a desperate attempt to curve his natural boyhood curiosity.

Now grown and mature, Sophonus saw past the fiction he had been told. Though there may very well be some manner of hideous creature, a bane of all things living, lurking inside the Newcraven, the most usual and perhaps greatest threat to travelers and hapless children were simple bandits; humans or orcs, more than willing to capture, rob, and in certain grisly instances, eat anyone and anything encountered. Back then though, he believed what he was told by his elders. Like the other children, he had been somewhat terrified of those evil entities that dwelled in the dark places of the trees, yet unlike the rest, it wasn't enough to quell the bubbling intrigue he had churning inside of him.

For most people, regarding a horrid and perhaps gruesome fate at the hands of monsters was a rather negative outcome, which would leave most disconcertion…to put it mildly. But to Sophonus, he was unbothered by such things, nay even; he was looking forward to it. To face down despicable desperate men, who were so loathsome that they'd stoop to stealing from simple common travelers and merchants, merely to satisfy their insatiable lust for gold and valuables, was what he had always wanted to do…That and so much more.

But despite his righteous desire, before he took any further steps, he had a compulsion to crane his neck, to look back the way he had come. There behind him was the large field of tall thimbleweed grass, clusters of trees to form the numerous thickets that dotted the land, and there, right where it had always stood…his village, his home. The place where he had spent all of his twenty-two years, born and raised. Peaceful, quiet…uninteresting. A village without a true name, far from the grand cities of the world, isolated from other races and mired in self-sufficiency.

He had a profound fondness of it, having many fair memories circling the austere rustic buildings and as he looked back, he felt a twang of wistful longing to return to it. Yet his craving for adventure and excitement called to him, summoning him out from the average existence that he lived. His childhood dreams of venturing out beyond the sheltering walls of a farmer's life, entering the Newcraven as a mighty warrior and journeying beyond to epic quests had always burned brightly inside of him.

He remembered his ambition of his younger days, going on from an early age, talking about slaying dragons and waging heroic battles against detestable foes. He also remembered his family, his neighbors and friends and their attitudes towards his aspirations…His mother had called him a fanciful daydreamer…His brother had called him a scrawny weakling…His father had called him a damned idiot. The neighbors all thought of him as more than slightly odd and what few friends he had thought him to be just plain silly. And after years of being told this as he grew older, over and over again, Sophonus had begun to feel that perhaps they all were right; that it _was_ silly, he _was_ a fool, to be wishing for a life that would forever be beyond his meager grasp.

Only Zarrin had believed in him, even urging him towards his dream. Master Zarrin, the old man of profound mystery.

Sophonus had met him in his youth, at age thirteen, though their first encounter was a bit on the odd side; Sophonus, in a near hysterical distress over the recent ridiculing comments of his father and brother, had run away from the village in tears, and somewhat blinded, had knocked himself cataleptic by running headlong into a tree right near the borders of the Newcraven. And it was Zarrin who had come across his unconscious form. The elderly fellow had come riding a wagon out of the Newcraven, looking for a quiet place to settle in his old age and had found the boy with a busted nose and drying blood on his face, sprawled out in the grass.

Naturally, as they talked, Sophonus was intrigued that the aged man had made it through the infamous forest with nary a scratch on him, only to learn after a time that Zarrin had been an adventurer in his youth and a pretty powerful one at that. At once Sophonus began to pelt him with questions of the world beyond the tiny fishing village and all but pleaded him for instruction in the ways of adventure.

The old warrior was hesitant at first, for many reasons ranging from how the boy's parents may react to their son learning the art of combat and such, as well as Sophonus, at age thirteen was a pale stick of a teenager, didn't look physically able to withstand the relentless painstaking effort required to hone oneself into a fighter, so wiry and frail he looked. Eventually Zarrin had agreed and began to pass on all that he had learned, instructing his apprentice in all the skills of heroics.

Now, nine years later, that scrawny boy filled with grand dreams of renown was about to leave the sheltering comfort of his home and emerge from under the protection and tutelage of his teacher. Nine years of harsh work, grueling lessons, emotional distress, pain and even miserable anguish. But he hadn't faltered; his wish of fulfilling his ambition helped him push onward through the adversity.

Though there were unquestionably several times where his own determination had faltered and nearly split in twain. For instance, his family could not understand his gallant aspirations, regarding it as a sick misguided obsession only and over the years his life at home began to deteriorate into constant confrontations and heated, oft times violent arguments.

All of this and more had been hurled into his path, impeding his advancement but Sophonus had evaded and withstood all of these obstacles and keep proceeding. Year after year, hardship after hardship, he had waited and longed for the day to at last arrive. And finally, it did…

"Ye are ready boy…" T'was the previous night, Zarrin had been smoking his pipe thoughtfully, gazing off into the fire, "I've taught ye everything that I know…well, everything that matters anyhow. How to fight, how to think, an' how to survive. The rest is up to ye. There's no reason for ye to remain here, it be time fer ye to step out into the world. Tomorrow then…ye'll be walkin' out of this town and goin' on yer way."

Sophonus had sat, listening, having known for weeks, months even, that his education was near completion and his own journey was close at hand. In a way, he had felt content to merely stay in the village, in the company of his master. After all, it was what he knew for years. But the allure of exotic lands and to see all sorts of bizarre monsters, as well as doing battle with them, was a yearning that wasn't to be ignored.

Zarrin had stood, slowly ambling over to an old wooden truck, cracking the lid, its once polished hinges of copper having dulled and rusted over the years and the stress of its movement echoed throughout the cabin in a grinding creak. After a moment of rooting through the contents, the old man emerged holding a scarred and hardened jerkin made of sturdy leather, as well as a sword, housed in a beaten scabbard.

"Take it," he offered the sheathed weapon, "My old sword, as true a blade as any ye'll find. I have faith that'll put it to good use. An' this armor…it ain't much an' it surely won't keep an arm from bein' lopped off, but ye don't really even need armor…as ye know…"

The young man had accepted the armor and then the sword, carefully drawing it forth, his skin tingling as he heard the crisp metallic resonance of the polished blade. With a hand that was now skilled and agile, the sword sang a whispering song as he deftly twirled it to and fro, watching the silver blade catch the light of the fire, casting a shimmering gleam along the walls.

He had seen this sword before; Zarrin had shown it to him a few times, often reminiscing about his glory days as the boy clutched the weapon, listening and absorbing the history. Despite the exhilaration of holding the weapon that was to be his and lead him to glory, Sophonus couldn't shake a lingering trace of apprehension that seemed to plague him. Zarrin undoubtedly felt it, and probably saw it on his pupil's face as well.

"Ye're feelin' nervous aye?" the old man gave the young adventurer-to-be a tap on the arm, "I know…ye're leavin' everything ye've ever known behind, not to return for months or years. Maybe never even…That's enough to make yer a bit uncertain. But the first step be the hardest, I know from experience. Once ye're out there, seein' the world an' possibly savin' it, ye'll know whether ye made the right choice or not."

Sophonus wasn't worried about his decision. He had known ever since Zarrin had begun teaching him that he was walking the proper path. But yes, the thought of departing his home, with the possibility of never seeing it again…well, that would cause understandable uncertainty in anyone.

However, Zarrin was correct, as he had a tendency to be. It was time to go; he had trained hard, spending more than one third of his life in pursuit of becoming an adventurer, and it was finally time to go forth, putting all he had learned to use.

Though despite that, he had no illusions of grandeur, not letting his imagination of what lay in store for him cloud his rationality. Sophonus knew that he was one man only and his newfound talents, while important and valuable, were not enough to completely guarantee his survival and well-being. After all, despite his abilities, there was much he simply could not do. For instance, could he cast devastating spells, conjuring up lightning and fire to incinerate his enemies with overwhelming fanfare? No. Could he call down the power of the gods themselves, to smite and punish the wicked with purity and divine justice? No. Did he have a hunter's steady and unparallel aim, able to pick a fly out of the air with a crossbow from two hundred spans away? Certainly not.

What he _did_ have was a comprehensively solid grasp on the art of swordplay, perhaps even greater than most, a few minor incantations for mending wounds, a head full of survival tactics as well as a knack for strategy, and a burning passion to do good; a power that surpassed the mightiest mage spells. So Zarrin had said.

Master Zarrin…

Sophonus could even now, less than a league away, picture his master, sitting outside his plain cabin, under the shade of a convenient tree, perhaps puffing his pipe or whittling a fishing rod. A mysterious and complex man, yet deceivingly simple in his manner and pleasures. Why, one time, Sophonus could remember the old man having…

He cut those thoughts off, giving his head a shake and lifted his eyes upward, seeing the rays of the sun filtering through the meager gaps in the leaves above.

"If I don't stop with this nostalgic reminiscing," Sophonus said aloud, "then I'll be standing here all day." Focusing on the now, he knew that the Newcraven was no haven of harmony and serenity; thieves, murderous thugs, and perhaps monsters awaited him. If his mind kept wandering off to think of days gone by, he'd be in trouble when a pack of hungry beasts descended upon him with their guttural bloodthirsty howls. He needed all his wits and thoughts facing forward, ready to combat any threat with intrepid swordplay and cunning stratagem. And perhaps…a droll retort to be thrown in now and then for good measure.

"Okay everybody out there;" he called out loud, his grin returning once more as he began to press onward to adventure, "Here I come…"


	2. A Dream of Decision

**Chapter 2:** A Dream of Decision

Sophonus spent the majority of his first day wandering this way and that, exploring the woods, not really even going in a specific direction. In fact, his leisurely strolling seemed rather contrary to his excited and often times fervent nature. He was calm, watching the small animals scurry about in their daily routines, and just enjoying himself and his new freedom. Zarrin had told him that adventuring was a peculiar business; most thought it was going about and beating up villains or slaying terrible beasts, plundering riches and becoming renowned as a great warrior. In truth, whilst such things may indeed happen, the tenets to follow were actually much simpler than all that.

"It ain't about going 'round and lookin' to start a fight," his teacher told him, "but more of doing right whenever there's wrong and to stop and listen to the birds in between." So that was just what Sophonus was doing. Watching the birds and strolling through the woods as if he didn't have a care or worry in the world. And truly, he didn't.

The day past swiftly enough, uneventful, nothing too exciting occurring to pierce the mundane, but then, Sophonus hadn't really been expecting an epic quest to fall into his lap on his first day out of the starting gate. That would come in time. However, around evening he found something that started to make his life a bit more interesting. With the sun falling, Sophonus was toying with the notion of halting to make camp, when ahead of him, through the last persistent bushes of vegetation was a clearing in the trees, all the brush nearby having been ravaged. 

_By fire most likely_, Sophonus said to himself, as there were telltale scorch marks on several dangling branches, as well as piles of ash and cinders tucked into the surrounding grass. In the center of the clearing was what looked to be a bunch of burned wood all piled up, a misshapen lump marring the otherwise tranquil open spot.

At once his curiosity flared and he approached, squinting his eyes, trying to discern what it was…or _had_ been before being incinerated. He was still puzzling on the mystery when a flash of movement made him stop dead, crouching instinctively into the grass. He scanned the area ahead of him thoroughly, now on alert, catching a glimpse of the motion again. All he could register was brief flashes of smallish brown spots, darting around and behind the mound of debris.

_I must be cautious…That is most likely a part of something far larger…And I can't very well leap out and attack it if I'm not sure what it is…that's a fine way to get eaten._

He inched closer, trying his best to watch his footing, as nothing ruins ones attempts at stealth than a piercingly loud twig snap. All the while, he keep studying the situation before him, trying to observe something, anything, that would expose what threat he was facing, so he would know whether he was in for a fight or not.

It wasn't until he was right on the edge of the brush, a mere step from emerging into the flat open ground when a miniscule little brown ball of fur came trotting around in front of the heap of wreckage, scratching itself behind the ears, making a soft chirping coo. As Sophonus stared at it, he felt like a first-class fool, and almost broke down right there, erupting into laughter at his over-zealous reaction. He had been so ready for a fight, exhilarated at the prospect of seeing the first monster of his life, that he hadn't even considered that whatever lurked ahead may have been harmless. For indeed, what stood before him was hardly a vicious, blood-thirsty menace to his health and well-being.

The brown spots hadn't been some larger animal or monster…They had, ironically, been brown spots. Or more precisely, they had been nork. A whole pack of nork.

With this revelation, the tension left him and Sophonus came out from his hiding place with no hesitation, the need for slinking had past. Almost at once, the one nork who stood the closest to the edge of the burned site, turned its miniature head towards the interloper and began squeaking and yipping, alerting the others to an approaching enemy. Faster than one would imagine on their stubby little legs, the whole lot of them scurried off in every direction with generous amounts of yelping and vanished.

Their hasty and panicked withdrawal was more than the young man could take, and Sophonus halted his steps, bent himself double and just laughed. When one grows tired following a long day of walking, a bit of comedy was welcome indeed.

After a few moments of letting the hilarity out, he reestablished his composure and turned his full attention back to the main point of interest, the ruins, running his eyes over it with deep probing scrutiny. From what he could discern, it looked to be some sort of a caravan wagon, with large rugged wooden wheels and a massive cargo area. A merchant's cart most likely, traveling from place to place, peddling their wares, hauling their inventory in the back. Though what a merchant cart was doing in the middle of the woods…ah, _that_ was the vexing question.

There actually _was_ a path that wound through the Newcraven, Sophonus knew, a legitimate road for travelers though it was still rough and wild, what with it not often used due to raiders. And this cart was certainly not near that road…at least he didn't _think_ it was, which meant that something caused this wagon to move away from the trail, but obviously fell prey to whatever had been threatening it.

Walking around to the other side, Sophonus was not surprised in the least at seeing an arrow shaft sticking out of the side of the wood. As a matter of fact, he had really expected to see that the moment he had laid eyes on this wreck. Like the rest of the remains, it was also charred and burnt, yet it still retained its ridge position, and Sophonus knew that there was a good bet that this arrow had been what started the fire in the first place; no doubt being covered in moss or some other flammable material and fired into the wooden cart.

Even a child could tell that this was the work of bandits, as The Newcraven was always a place for thieves and robbers to waylay anyone who may happen to travel unprotected. However, what sort of bandits did the pillaging remained to be answered.

Taking a firm hold of the arrow caused it to completely fall apart into a cloud of ash, staining his hand with the incinerated black dust. However, the thing that would answer his question was still stuck in the wood. Reaching to his boot, he pulled out a long bladed hunting knife, a keen and polished weapon, its handle inlaid with some sort of bone and animal hide. He remembered Zarrin had given it to him only moments before he had left.

"Take this boy…a knife be a handy tool to have. It's a small weapon that'll work in a pinch, but ye'll find other uses for it, I'm sure." And true to his master's words, he began to dig it into the blackened remains with the tip, twisting and wedging. Finally, after a bit of nudging and prying, a little fragment of metal popped out and into his awaiting hand.

An arrowhead, having maintained its contour even after being in the blazing inferno that the cart must have been. And the shape of the arrowhead told Sophonus who had fired it. Human. No question about it. Low desperate men who had no qualms about looting and no doubt murdering anything they came across. The previous owner of the wagon must not have had enough security to ensure his safety, or perhaps had been somewhat mad to attempt the journey in the first place.

As Sophonus was running his fingers over the smooth metal, contemplating his find, he suddenly realized that he was no longer alone. Glancing behind, he noticed that the pack of nork had returned to the edge of the clearing and were eyeing him.

A nork is a rather strange sort of creature, normally considered an average critter of wildlife by most folks, the sort that lives on the outskirts of most towns and settlements. Although they have a natural fear of any animals larger than themselves, nearly everything as it is, it's common for groups of them to follow travelers and merchants for leagues, picking up scraps and garbage left behind, the lot of them living like scavengers. Despite the fact that their packs can have substantial numbers, they aren't at all dangerous, though they can often prove themselves as irritant pests.

They stand a bit higher than a man's ankle, maybe a span or more in height, being round butterballish creatures, their plump bodies covered with fine silky hair, usually brown or black. Their faces were distinctively rodent-like, with the exceptions that their noses were far shorter and wider, and the tops of their heads sported small horns jutting out from over their eyes. One really couldn't even call them horns though; more like tiny little numbs of bone protruding from their skulls, the tips tapering off into rounded edges. They tend to walk on all fours, though they also can balance on their back legs like a humanoid should they want to, but that is a rare sight.

Their eyes were most unique thing about all nork; large, glassy, and black, though whenever their disposition alters, their eyes change colors as well, shifting the shade to match their frame of mind. A few examples that have been noted are yellow, green, or purple. Yellow shows that they are in a heightened state of fear, green is wary and cautious, and purple, not often seen, is friendly and affectionate. The nork who were watching had their eyes fluctuating between yellow and green.

Sophonus paid no heed to the curious nork who were watching him and instead bent and squatted down, letting his eyes travel through the grass of the clearing, examining footprints left behind. If one has a keen sense of perception, it is possible to discern many facts merely by examining tracks; in truth, the subtle imprints left by those who had passed told a story. The trick was being able to see and interoperate the insinuating meanings left in each footstep.

As he had expected, most of the markings in the dirt were the minute paws of the nork, having been scouring the sight for perhaps hours or days before his arrival. However there were a few tracks here and there that had remained unmarred by the careless little feet. Several large boot prints, their size being around that of a typical human or an orc, striding about the area, its path filled with menace. It's hard to tell who made it, though Sophonus had his money on human. Orcs, he had been told, tended to have more of a shuffling erratic walk than men.

If there had been more tracks in the area, he could not see them, the site had been here for a good week he judged, the weather and other passing creatures marring the evidence left on the ground. Not to mention that the sun was setting and the light fading. Sophonus knew better than to try and deduce or scrutinize in the hours of twilight and decided then and there that this was enough traveling for one day. With the clearing around him, there could not a more perfect place to stop and make camp. At least not for several leagues.

He pulled out what little he had in his pack and scrounged up some unburnt wood from the rubble to make a small cook fire, though he was sure to keep the flames to a minimum. Making fire is risky business in bandit-infested woods, as smoke usually attracts the most unwanted of people. Or orcs. And almost always, regardless of the circumstances, one man against a group of murderers and cut-throats weren't real good odds.

As the sun slowly vanished, Sophonus unwrapped an undersized portion of food he had packed before he left. His travel satchel was laden with all sorts of food that would remain edible for weeks and what little money he had, and he knew he had to be careful with what he ate and when, lest he end up lost in the woods with no food or water. Naturally, during hid training, he had been taught how to live off of land, which plants and bugs could be eaten, a valuable skill indeed; regardless, Sophonus didn't really want thing to get so bad that'd he have to do that. He had never been truly comfortable with putting wriggling and still kicking things into his mouth.

The tantalizing aroma of the slowly roasting food drew the norks like carrion does flies, and they moved closer and closer to Sophonus's camp, quietly yipping and squeaking as they stared. Sophonus watched them for a few minutes, his gaze traveling amongst the dozens of multicolored eyes staring at him, as they cautiously edged nearer. Even though he knew he should save every scrap of food for possible emergencies, as well as the possible bother he'd have with a whole pack of nork following after him, he couldn't resist throwing a little something to the group which nearly surrounded him.

With the exception of the lazy glow of his petite fire, the area around him was all but lightless, night having fallen completely, the utter blackness of the forest a bit unnerving, and the norks stood just outside the darkness-dispelling light of his miniature flames. After savoring a bite of the roasted dried jerky, Sophonus gently tossed what little remained, the chunk landing just inside the circle of light.

Almost at once, every nork lunged for this area, but pulled up short when they realized that their meal was _inside_ the light radius. And it seemed that none of them were willing to cross this line, for it was far too close to him, the one who threw the meat. Each and every one of them voiced their frustration by squeaking at Sophonus, as if to say, "Why didn't you throw it farther?"

After a time, one of them finally worked up enough courage to put one of its paws into the light…Not far but it _was_ in the light. It stopped and stared at Sophonus, watching him closely, its eyes a shade of light green. Seeing as Sophonus hadn't moved, it inched closer until it was within eating distance of the meat. It lowered its head and licked it, then turned tail and ran back outside the ring. It came right back to edge and continued to scrutinize the human, who still had not moved. At last, no doubt feeling courageous; it waddled right up to the morsel and ate it. All the others behind it started to yip and began dancing around, no doubt jealous.

The piece consumed, the nork looked right at Sophonus, its eyes black. It squeaked at him, as if demanding more and it began to hop up and down in an excited frenzy. Sophonus at long last stirred a bit and cleared his throat, which instantly caused the one nork to squeal and tear back outside into the relentless shadows; knocking two or three others down as it went scurrying by. Sophonus laughed at the little creatures and threw a few more scraps at the pack, making sure they all landed beyond the light of his fire. Soon after eating himself, he put out the diminutive blaze and slowly drifted off to sleep.

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Sophonus's gaze came into focus and he was somewhat surprised to see that he was a young boy once more, standing in his home. This reversion of self was easily confirmed as he looked down at himself; his arms were the bony pale twigs of his youth, his imposing height had vanished, and he felt so…weak. Vulnerable. Incapable of protecting himself and others. Somehow though, Sophonus wasn't too bewildered by this sudden change; in a way, it felt correct somehow though how he knew it he had no clue. In any case, he was a child once more. So be it.

Even as he was accepting his current situation he realized that he was not alone in the memorable farm home. His family stood around him as well, looking as familiar and as…plain as they always had been. However, none of them were moving. Still as statues one might say; silent and motionless, standing in place without blinking, without breathing. But their poses spoke not of modeling for a painting or such; rather they looked to have been in mid-action as whatever it was that froze time descended upon them.

His mother was bent before the fireplace, wooden spoon to her lips, sampling the day's meal bubbling in an iron cauldron. The flames and the steam from the stew were also unmoving, unchanging. His father sat at the table, his narrow sunken eyes thankfully closed, his mouth wrapped around a mug of liquid, probably Sea Demon, a dreadful reeking tonic of the towns own creation and a favored beverage of his. And Artimus, his brother, far heavier and tanned than his younger sibling, was leaning on a chair, a wicked grin spread across his face, looking quite pleased with himself.

Sophonus gingerly crept forward amidst them, half-expecting his stationary family to spring to life at any moment. He went over to his brother and tentatively…poked his shoulder to try and get any sort of a response. There was none. As he examined him, he stared right into that repugnant grin…he had seen that malicious almost fiendish expression before; whenever he had teased or ridiculed Sophonus about his dreams, which was at every available opportunity. Seeing that sickening smile, unrelenting, right in his face made Sophonus's vision blur to red and with a blow fueled by rage and loathing, he wound his arm up and slugged his brother right in the teeth.

Nothing happened. His brother didn't even flinch in the slightest at this display of unchecked aggression and the only thing accomplished was now his hand was really hurting. _It seems I'm as fragile as I always w_as, Sophonus commented to himself with wry amusement. He left his brother and next approached his father, and just like Artimus, he stared at him with an almost totally undiluted hatred.

All the belittling remarks over the years, the punishments for spending so much time with Zarrin…Sophonus felt his temper flare once more towards the hateful and bitter man that was his father and was tempted to try and bust a chair upon his head. That however wouldn't change anything, as he too would undoubtedly lack any sort of reaction to the attack, and that alone wouldn't make it worthwhile, so he breathed out, trying to vent his anger in a trembling exhale, and walked away.

He went to his mother, observing her motionless behavior and small smile crept to his face, as he had a predominant fondness of her and her sensible ways. In actuality, as he thought about it, his mother was really his only family, the only one who had cared about him and even seemed to love him. The other two acted more like tormentors, placed in the house if only to insult him and make him feel useless. His mother though, she hadn't truly approved of his life's goal of departing into a world of adventure, but she always was there for him

And because of that, he now hoped that his presence would perhaps bring about some change; snap her back to the present. But no, he came away with the same results, his family remained still. Unsure of the implications to such a vexing situation and not seeing anyway to change it, Sophonus did what he had learned to do in his training for such circumstances. He went exploring to gather the facts of what was transpiring.

Thus he left his family as they were and exited the house, stepping into the dusty streets of the village, where he saw that his family were not the only ones afflicted by the baffling condition. The tiny hamlet was as still as an oil painting and everyone and everything were all but drowning in absolute silence. The whole populous of the town were stiff and rigid, their appearances suggesting that they had been walking about doing their daily routines. There were young children in the middle of the act of throwing a ball, farmers plowing their lands, traders haggling their prices to an unsuspecting buyer, and yet they were all horribly silent.

As the boy who was still an adult walked amongst the buildings and people, uncertainty began to creep into his mind, uncertainty and doubt of what was going on. He had never seen such things, even heard of such things before, even from the many tales and yarns Zarrin had spun to him.

Yet through all of the restlessness and unease that he felt, there was a feeling even stronger and more intruding…the suspicion that he had…seen this scene before, the people as they stood…it all looked familiar in someway. The more of the sights around that he took in, the stronger the sensation of familiarity became, until it had gone from a tingling itch to a near-maddening irritation across his consciousness.

Then the color began to fade. It was a bewildering and somewhat eerie sight to behold, the gleaming and vibrant hues of the world around began to dull; the crystalline azure sky began to dim, the shimmering green of the grasses and trees began to fade into pallid, almost lifeless gray. Even the people began to lose their luster, as if shadows slowly crawled over them. Soon the entire village was mired in a foreboding gloom, leaving Sophonus standing in the middle of a town of darkness.

"What sorcery _is_ this?" Sophonus said aloud, as he could only stand and watch, "Who has the power to stop the flow of time and do…this?" Sophonus was too confused to even notice that his voice had reverted just as his form had, back to his shrill teenage squawking, the raspy sound of it grating severely against the all encompassing silence. He wished for an answer to the baffling conundrum before him, but what came to him was not an answer, but instead a voice.

"_Witness your life,"_ the voice sounded through the silence; it spoke softly and was whispery, its tone nearly expressionless, _"See how your world looked years ago."_ Taken slightly aback by the sudden and invisible voice, Sophonus gathered his courage.

"Are you the one responsible for this?" he demanded, ignoring the cryptic statement that was spoken, "Who are you? _What_ are you that can do this?" Whether or not he was heard at all or if the mysterious speaker chose to ignore him, the voice spoke on.

"_No troubles, no cares, naught but the minor trials and tribulations one faces day to day in an ordinary life. However, the world beyond those trees is not quite so simplistic."_

"I do not know who you are," Sophonus answered back, looking all over in an attempt to behold the enigmatic orator, "Or even if this is real or not, but am I to take it that you too are trying to dissuade me?"

"_I am a voice of reality, real and illusion both. And a choice is all I offer. To proceed forward with your dream or let them remain fanciful ideals forever."_

"Why is it that _everyone_ I meet wishes to deter me from my purpose?" Sophonus harshly demanded, "My whole life I have been asked, pleaded with, and even threatened to give up my dreams. Will you too now try and turn me from the path that I wish to walk?"

"_Not I. But you."_

"What?"

"_I am but a reflection of yourself, what lies in your heart and mind. I speak for your sake and benefit and I speak only because you wished me to."_

"What rubbish. Reflection or no, I have dreamed of this moment for my whole life and I am trained and strong, there is nothing left here for me, nothing to hold me back."

"_You speak boldly, but your words hide the truth inside of you. Your doubts linger; you are unsure if you are ready for the life you desire to lead."_ Sophonus was quiet; perhaps the voice _was_ a part of him someway. For it was correct, he was still having persistent uncertainties. True he had all but obsessed over what he was now doing, but still…

"Why…why am I so nervous? Why can I not just let this matter rest once and for all?"

"_Such important decisions are not to be made lightly, and until full admission of a way is set, hesitation will always remain."_

"So…what do you want from me?"

"_Nothing. But for you to feel peace of mind and fulfillment in whatever course you choose, a decision must be made. Here. Now. In this place, where your two destinies were torn in twain, offering you two paths to follow."_

Right then, it struck him, as surely as a well timed sword thrust. He knew where he was…well, when he was. Such a day, how could he have forgotten? It was the day he had encountered Zarrin, having run into a tree in a near hysterical fit due to his father and brother's most recent installment of taunting. It was there he had met the old man, and he had seen his chance to finally takes steps to realize his dream. He had not hesitated then, so why now?

"Very well," the young boy who was actually an adult stared out into the fields and trees surrounding his home, his eyes steeling, his voice firming, "I have decided to continue on. I may miss my home and all the comforts of a simple ordinary life, but with what may very well lie ahead for me, I shall sacrifice such things and walk forward, no longer concerned for what I have left behind." Silence followed this bold and resolute declaration, Sophonus trying his best to stiffen his resolve as his words suggested.

"_So be it adventurer,"_ the voice accepted, slowly beginning to fade into the dismal gray surroundings, _"Then proceed to your destiny, and let your decisions guide you forward."_

Sophonus had no need to speculate as to that particular meaning. It was the day he met his master at the base of the tree, so he needed to get to that tree, to begin his journey down that road to his future. With no hesitation, he strode past the frozen folks of his home, willing himself not to look back, to focus on what lay in front of him. As he entered the field outside of town, he couldn't help but increase his pace, his walk becoming a jog, then a sprint, then a flat out run, all but galloping to the edge of the forest. He didn't know why exactly, though he knew he felt a compulsion, a powerful urge that pulled him in that direction.

Passing through the fields and patches of brush that dotted outside the town, he finally caught sight of the familiar tree line of the Newcraven forest, the place where his destiny truly began. And there was the tree. He knew it well, a stout ash, not horribly thick but sturdy enough to hold a hysterical thirteen year old at bay.

Reaching the base of the tree, staring down at the spot where he had fallen…he saw nothing. He didn't see himself, sprawled out and unconscious, blood drying around his nose. Not even an indentation in the grass. Sophonus didn't even have time to wondering the meaning when he felt something trickling down his upper lip.

He knew what it was at once. Blood. And he knew what that meant as well. He was here to play the part again, of the small boy who rammed into the tree and fell unconscious. And suddenly, just as he had suspected, blackness washed over him and he saw nothing more. And yet not long after, he heard another voice inside his head. However it wasn't that which had spoken to him, yet it was still a voice he knew very well. It was Zarrin's.

"Walk the path boy, an' let the rest of the world take care of itself."


	3. First Blood

**Chapter 3:** First Blood

With the rush of dream vapors pouring from his mind, Sophonus's waking self returned to him, with Zarrin's voice still ringing in his ears and rapid flow of blood in his veins. Naturally he rose with a somewhat stifling sense of disorientation and it took him a moment to come back to himself. But as he glanced about, he slowly began to get his bearings again. He saw the singed wood of the caravan and of his own fire, his belongings here and there, and he recalled entering the woods, making camp, feeding the nork. Which meant, he had awoke.

_Wow_, he thought, _what a dream_.

As he pushed himself up, to find some water to splash in his face, he found that a strange weight held him down. He could not move. For a single moment, thoughts of capture and death rushed through his still hazy mind. At least until the sounds of soft cooing and warm moving pressure calmed him. Blinking the sleep from his eyes and lifting his head as much he could, he saw a rather ridiculous sight. The curious pack of nork from the previous evening apparently hadn't been content with just eating his food. While he slept, they must have moved in and their own camp for the night right on top of him and his warm body.

_This is what I get for being a nice guy,_ he said to himself, amused by their assertive actions.

Swiveling his eyes upward, he scanned the sky above. The night sky still shined, though the unmistakable traces of dawn were clearly visible. Even though Sophonus had always believed in rising early to seize the day, this was a bit too much, even for him, as it wasn't _even_ day yet. So he opted to lay his head back down, enjoying the warmth of his nork blanket. Not surprisingly it wasn't long before drowsiness descended upon him again and he was enveloped by sleep once more.

When his eyes opened the next time, the sun was filtering through the treetops, morning having come around while he slept. The nork were awake as well, he could hear their cooing and quiet yips to one another, as they shifted around on top of him. Finally ready to rise, Sophonus made his presence known to the pack by wiggling his body slightly beneath them. At the sudden movement the nork all but exploded in a panic as they bolted off of him. He sat up and turned his head, which popped several times, and observed the pack. They were standing in a line not far off yipping their irritation at having been disturbed.

Sophonus rose, stretching the kinks from his body and he was promptly wished a good morning by his stomach growling, demanding sustenance. Heeding its call, he began gathering more unspoiled wood for a new fire to cook his breakfast. At the sight of food, the nork went once more into a sort of frenzy, squeaking and bounding on their short legs as if demanding to be fed.

Though he enjoyed their company, Sophonus knew that if he offered them any more food, they might feel compelled to follow him, which would be ridiculous. Traveling through the woods with noisy little beggars trailing behind would attract unwanted attention. Thus he didn't throw out any food this time around and ate a quick breakfast while the group stood on watching, their eyes constantly changing color. Once finished, Sophonus put out his fire and began packing his belongings, ready to continue his trek through the forest. As he refilled his travel satchel, he noticed that the nork were slowly inching away from him, retreating farther and farther out of the clearing.

As he observed, he was suddenly aware of a smell that came wafting under his nose. It was a bad smell, a reek to be more precise. He caught the strong scents of rotting meat, decaying leather, sweat, and feces all mixed together into a stomach turning stench. With such a rancid smell, one thing immediately came to mind. Orc. Sophonus had never seen an orc before in his life, let alone smelled one, but he was certain that's what it was; the appalling stench of orcs was as legendary as their ugliness and cruelty. And indeed, credit to his hunch, as he turned around, there on the edge of the clearing were four large orcs stepping past the tree line, closing the distance to him.

There were only four of them; Sophonus figured they were more of a wandering marauding band or perhaps a scouting party for a larger horde. Orcs tend to hang together in clans with numbers sometimes ranging into the hundreds. Hardly ever will an orc go out on its own, as due to their disreputable reputation, they usually would never survive for long. And if they were a scouting party, they probably were drawn to the smoke, no doubt curious.

Despite having never seen such creatures before during his sheltered life, the description Zarrin had given him fit all too well. True enough that orcs came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but there were two fundamental principles that all orcs shared without fail; the four approaching clearly displaying these traits. They emitted a horrendous smell that could repel flies and were grotesque beyond all reason.

And indeed, their sunken and perverse faces were unsightly, all four of them having a greenish gray skin tones, along with sickly stringy hair, hardly covering their lice and scab infested scalps. All wore shoddy leather armor that looked to be utterly sullied by their own bodily greases and toxins, and each were armed, weapons drawn as they were eyeing Sophonus, shambling forward, no doubt ready to do some damage.

"Well, well," one croaked, its growling voice, harsh and strident like grinding rocks, "What 'e got 'ere? A single boy all by 'is lonesome in the middle of this big wood, lookin' a mite lost I'd say."

"Aye", said another, "I say we's bring 'im back to Orgak. 'E'd give us a 'uge reward. You knows like me 'e pays big fer good slaves."

"Na na", grunted the third, "I 'ay, we's kill 'im here an' feast on 'is guts. I 'avn't had a real meal nary a week now. I could go for some 'uman right now."

"Ah, always 'hinkin with yer gut, ya gasbag," the second snarled back, "We'd get more gold if 'e was turned in as a slave. Then yous could buy alls the meat yous could want."

"Shut yer fat gob, Gorebone," snapped the fourth, "Orgak only 'ays for descent slaves and 'ou know it. Besides, if we's did get any gold, you would keep it fer yerself as always. So I says we eats 'im."

"An' 'es a bit more than descent I'll warrant," growled Gorebone, looking Sophonus up and down, "'Es a bit lean but a 'igh quality human if ever there was one. An' I says we are gonna bring 'im with us an' get some gold from Orgak."

"Grah, I still 'ay we should eat 'im. Why is it that Orgak gets all the meat an' all we's got is nuthin but scraps? An' 'ow much of that gold will we be seein' Gorebone, ya greedy werm?"

"We's only gets scraps because we's the scoutin' party, an' ye be too fat any ways. An' you'll be seein' your gold right quick, just as soon as we gets this 'uman back to camp." Gorebone scrutinized his human target once more. "Now," he pointed a grubby finger towards the orc that first spoke, "'ou an' Strug, go and fetch 'im an' bring 'im in. An' I don't want to be a seein' no 'eeth marks on 'im. Orgak don't tolerate no damaged goods."

As far as Sophonus could tell, listening to their sinister banter of human eating and capturing, Gorebone was probably the leader of this foul patrol the way he was barking orders to the other. However, not everyone seemed to accept his commands cheerfully.

"Why do me haff to go?" whined the first one. "Why not send Strug an' Irkin insteads? They is better at capturing then I is."

"Cause I'm sendin' 'ou ya greasy maggot. Now get out there an' bring 'im in. Wes ain't got all day."

All during the ensuing argument, there stood Sophonus, somewhat mesmerized by these foul quibbling creatures, discussing his fate while he stood listening not more than a few paces away. It was somewhat amusing to watch the quarrelling monsters, but unbeknownst to the dim orcs, they had unwittingly provided Sophonus with some information.

Despite their slurring and grunting speech, Sophonus had heard mention of someone or probably some_thing_ called Orgak that paid this group for human captives. Perhaps a tribe that specialized in selling slaves though this Orgak, though he probably would not be an orc, but something more massive and far more dangerous, such as an ogre or hobgoblin, able to bully about his underlings with fear.

A camp or base of operations of some sort was probably somewhere within the Newcraven also and it had to be relatively decent size; after all, if they had such numbers to send out a scouting party, surely they wouldn't leave their base undefended. Which meant that Sophonus's possible first quest was going to be quite a challenge.

But before he could investigate the matter further, he needed to deal with his current orc problem.

Coming back to himself, Sophonus was aware that the orcs were still bickering at one another on who would capture him. So involved in their arguments they were, he probably could have simply walked away and they wouldn't have noticed. It seemed that the one called Urok resented being sent to do the "irty wurk" while Gorebone and Irkin watched from the side. Unfortunately for the four, Sophonus had no intentions about becoming either their dinner or their captive.

"I on't care what ya says, ya bloated dung heap," snarled Gorebone, a murderous gleam in his sunken watery eyes, "'ou an' Strug get out ther' and capture that 'uman or I'm a gonna skin yous meself an' use yer head as a jar. Now move it!"

"An' I've heard nuff of yer yappin' to last me through an age," Urok spat back, an equally furious expression on his horrific face. "An' I's think its time for a change of leadership 'ere!" He puffed himself up and brandished his weapon, a cheap looking scimitar, towards his leader. "I'll kill 'ou 'ere an' now an' take yer 'ead, an' I'll be in charge 'ere! Then wes gonna eats 'im insteads!"

"Yous challengin' me?!" Gorebone practically roared, pulling out his own weapon, a massive two-handed sword, "I'm a gonna slice yous in half an' stomp on the pieces!" The two orcs started at one another, circling about while the others backed off, watching.

This sort of behavior may have seemed insane and somewhat brainless, but it was actually quite common for orcs. The normal orc is rather uncivilized, although that is something most people already know. However most of them have no qualms about fighting and oft times killing one another over trivial little arguments. At times, their whole tribe will engage in a giant melee with each other, sometimes for as small and inconsequential a thing like who gets the last shred of meat in the camp. And they don't even have to be starving to want it. Now Sophonus had heard of such things of course from Zarrin, but never did he really believe that there was a race that was actually that foolish and…well, stupid. As he commented on it, his master had shrugged.

"Well," his teacher told him, "No one has ever called them orcs smart lad. An' the shame of it is, even with them killin' each other and heroes cuttin'em down, they just keep coming back. Most likely there is magic in there somewhere." And speaking of heroes cutting down orcs, Sophonus felt the time had come to enter his first real battle.

Both Gorebone and Urok were poised and ready to strike, when Sophonus quietly spoke.

"Excuse me?" he called out. All four orcs stopped and turned to the human they were so intent on capturing and/or eating, probably half surprised that he was still there. "If you are going to die," Sophonus told them, "then why not die on my blade instead? It would make more sense that way, rather than you killing one another." Gorebone directed a foul grin towards him.

"Well well, look 'ou finally 'as the guts to speak. I was a wonderin' if ya were a mute or somethin'. Yous just keep quiet now, as soons as I'm done 'ere, we'll be takin' 'ou alongs with us fer a nice stroll through these woods."

He let out a putrid laugh at his own joke but stopped short with a choke when a voice in his ear hissed, "'hats what 'ou think." With a flash of steel, Gorebone's head fell to the ground. Urok, taking advantage of his enemy's shifted attention, had sliced his head from is torso. As Gorebone's headless body fell to the earth, Urok let out a whoop of victory.

"Now I's in charge!" He turned to Sophonus and leveled one grim covered finger at him. "An' I'm afraid that strolls just been canceled. Nows that I'm in charge, wes gonna feast on yer flesh instead 'uman. Drop yer sword now, an' I's promises to kill ya quick." Sophonus looked directly into the orc's eyes with an unflinching face. He reached for his sword and drew it forth with the ring of metal on metal, before glancing down at the slain creature, the black viscous ooze leaking out as revolting as manifested corruption itself.

"You really shouldn't have killed him," was all he said to them.

"Oh yer?" Urok sneered, taking a threatening step forward, "An' whys that?"

Sophonus took a stance, left foot out and arms spread, making a light flourish with his sword, as he gave them a simple smirk.

"Because you will need all the help you can get to kill me."

All three orcs looked at one another, somewhat dumbfounded before they exploded with laughter. That sound seemed to make the grass around them shrivel.

"Oh aye? Har har, 'hats rich that is," Urok howled, slapping his leg. "Ou's gonna beat us, is 'ou?" They let loose another gust of foul laughter until Urok pointed his scimitar at Sophonus, still chuckling. "Last time I's checked, you is a little outnumbered 'ere. Unless yous count them little critters behind ya. Are theys with 'ou?"

Sophonus glanced slightly to the left, catching a glimpse of a crowd of luminous multicolored eyes staring out of the brush not far off. Not waiting for an answer, the three orcs moved in on him, spreading out and advancing swiftly, wanting to kill this human and eat. After all, they _were_ hungry. However, they never got the feast like they desired. Sophonus watched the three, two moving to flank his sides and Urok attacking head on

He waited, breathing calmly, readying himself and biding his time, unblinkingly watchful for the first move. And when one of them finally decided to strike, Sophonus was already moving.

The one orc, Strug, darted in, ready to crash his heavy studded mace on to Sophonus's skull, ending the fight quickly. But not swiftly enough, for with a near blinding thrust, Sophonus's blade swung, knocking the incoming blow aside and off target. Before Strug knew that his swing had missed, his eyes widened in disbelief, as one of his filthy scabulous hands reached up, clutching his throat that was now gushing revolting black ichor in a sordid torrent. His attempts to hold his lifeblood back ultimately failed, as he slowly sank down, gasping and gagging, cadaverous eyes rolling madly.

Not even wasting a moment, Sophonus made a sweeping arching turn, sword leading the way, facing the next orc. His blade's singing tip slashed straight through the orc's armored midsection, inflicting a deep slice right across the abdomen. The creature's rancid insides, discovering the newly created outlet, exited his body with a squelching splat, covering the ground in all their putridity. The smell was even fouler than the abominable sight. Irkin, now dead, fell to the ground, landing in the squalid mess of his own entrails.

Sophonus meanwhile stood on watching, his head spinning from the thrill he felt…and the reeking stench that all but poisoned the air. The feel of his sword striking home, the ability to perform the deft maneuvers he had been taught, the realization that he was fighting against evil monsters…all of it was exhilarating.

Urok however, seemed less ecstatic. He had ceased his own advance, staring down at his two comrades, who had been alive and well only seconds before. His face was a grotesque contortion of anger towards his quarry, and no small amount of fear, as the human was clearly well-experienced with a blade. The two emotions battled across his features, most likely trying to decide what his course of action should be.

In the end, anger won the day, his qualms and doubts seemed to dissolve, his features growing ever more frightful as he gnashed his teeth and trembled with inner fury. Whether it was for the loss of his fellows, or because Sophonus wasn't being a good little human and dying like he should, or if he simply got angry for no real reason, Urok bellowed, letting his unquenchable rage take hold, and he waded forward, both grimy hands clutching the hilt of his curved blade, making wild uncoordinated slashes at his foe in an effort to reduce him to shreds of flesh.

Sophonus met this barbarous charge with calm precision, simply leaning out of range and effortlessly parrying the erratic yet predictable attacks. The fight could have been finished in but a moment, but Sophonus held back. He felt it wise to seize the opportunity to get familiar with having someone swinging a sharpened weapon at him with hostile intent. Better to do so against a bumbling fool rather than a lethal swordsman.

Finally, with Urok performing a grossly overpowered overhead swing, Sophonus stepped to the left with a graceful half turn and finally let his sword fly. Urok never saw it coming and his head went sailing from his shoulders, spiraling away into the brush, no doubt contaminating whatever it came into contact with. Ironic really, that the ghastly brute died in the same grisly fashion as his former leader. How fitting.

The corpse fell to the ground and began spilling out the thick black gunk that was their blood. And the same toxic goo was now coating Sophonus's sword. He bent, running his blade several times through the tall grass to wipe it clear, before replacing it back into the worn scabbard on his hip.

Sophonus then went from one slain creatures to the next, searching for any items or gear that might be useful on his journey. The dead orcs unfortunately, had very little. Their weaponry was shoddy, their armor all but tatters, and they had little space to carry valuables. All he managed to find from the first three were some gold pieces and some silver jewelry. On Gorebone's corpse however, he found a small leather bag attached to his belt filled with gold, a pack with some food in it, along with a crumpled up scrap of paper that bore scribbled writing that was hardly legible.

-

"_Okay, listen up ya miserable rats. Wes got another buyer for our "merchandise" so yous to go around this wretched wood and "recruit" as many people as possible. I's don't care what they is, so long as they's alive and undamaged. If need be, go by the town on the eastern edge and nab a few there. But don't get caught!! _

_Steer clear of them human bandits; theys would put up too much of a fight an' we don't be needin' ta start a war with'em. You got less than a week ta bring'em back ta camp, so if ya foul this up, yer gonna have an ogre's fist tearin' out your spine and beatin' ya to death with it!"_

_Orgak Slimetooth_

_-  
_

Sophonus stood, scanning the note several times over, pondering what he had read. A band of orc slavers in the forest under the command of Orgak, he had heard that much from the orc's rambling, but the word camp had been mentioned in this note, meaning…

"Meaning," he pondered aloud, "there's an encampment somewhere around here. And judging by where they have decided to set up shop," he glanced about, scanning the trees around him, knowing of the malevolence they hid within, "Then I'd say it's a good bet that its a more permanent outpost, as there doesn't seem to be too many heroes wandering this forest that could stop them. Except me."

For indeed, hunting slavers and freeing unjustly imprisoned captives was a worthy quest for any adventurer. Like him. And to face down orcs and an ogre too? So much the better really.

Before he went on his way, Sophonus went through the food satchel from Gorebone and gathered any food that look unspoiled by the befouled hands of the group, topping off his own supply. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the pack of nork in the brush, watching him handle the food.

An idea suddenly popped into his head and he took all the orc food that he was leaving behind and placed it in a pile near the norks. As soon as he had stepped away, the whole group came tearing out of the brush, plowing one another under to get to the prize first. They began to eat with great delight and they all voiced their appreciation with a barrage of squeaks and yips, wagging their little stubby tails, their eyes glowing purple. Sophonus watched for a minute, then picked up his effects and moved to the edge of the clearing.

Turning back for a moment he called, "Farewell, little nork! May your scavenging be bountiful!" And leaving them to their feast, Sophonus plunged deeper into the woods, searching for the slave camp and with it, his first adventure.


	4. Follow Your Gut

**Chapter 4:** Follow Your Gut

Sophonus set out from the site of the wrecked caravan in high spirits, ready to seek out this camp of orc slavers, see that they faced justice, and put them out of business permanently. However, such a task was, as they say, most certainly easier said than done. For before any justice-delivering could be done, Sophonus first needed to _find_ their base of operations, somewhere in the dense and quite expansive Newcraven forest. Which was turning into quite an obstacle.

Five days had past since his encounter with the orc patrol, and so far he had found nothing that even remotely resembled a hint at its location. He had followed the patrols footprints back the way they had come, though he lost the trail around a small creek, where they must have waded through it. Which meant he had nothing whatsoever to go on; a location to shoot for, a trail to follow, even a general direction to walk. All he could do was wander through the trees and hope to stumble upon some sort of trace that would lead him to his goal.

And so it went for five days, during which hardly anything, even insects, presented themselves before him. The whole wood seemed to be utterly empty and the quiet grew more and more unsettling. No birds chirping or even the sound of the whispering wind. Just still silence, pierced only by Sophonus's footfalls in the grass, though even they seemed dull and muffled.

To try and gather his bearings, every so often he would study the ground to try and pick up any new tracks for him to follow. This too, yielded little. While there were indeed plenty of tracks scattered across the forest floor, most of them were rather old, some over a week or more, and following them would really have been pointless. Not to mention that many of the fresh ones were simply animals that merely had past. Nothing too shocking or useful about that.

However Sophonus did notice that there was quite a bit of activity in certain spots. From his scrutiny, he was able to identify the footprints of orcs, humans, several hobgoblins by the looks of things, many, many nork, and some other tracks that he couldn't make out for the life of him. But that was understandable; Zarrin had only really shown him some of the most basic types of footprints and how to decipher their meanings, so coming across footprints that he couldn't identify was no real surprise. So he wandered, being all that he really could do.

And to make things all the more aggravating, the days began to grow warmer, as the early spring days were beginning to yield to the unrelenting heat of the impending summer. And heat linked with frustration tends to shorten ones temper and increase their impatience. With the increased temperature beating down on him, it didn't take long for Sophonus's water skins to empty, leaving his throat parched and pleading for a taste of a cool drink.

Luck smiled upon him however, for as the light of the sixth day began to fade, he heard the sounds of a splashing stream beyond the trees, and following his ears he discovered a running creek, filled to the banks with crisp cool water. Not wasting time on etiquette, Sophonus laid his belongings down in the grass and dunked his whole head underwater, opening his mouth and taking in as much water as his mouth could. It was absolutely delightful, the water tasted as rich and as satisfying as a cool glass of wine.

Immersing his head had been quite refreshing, so good actually that he saw no reason to stop there. Quickly stepping out of his clothes, he dove into the shallow creek, letting the delicious sensation envelop him. The bath, the first he had taken in quite a while, was the perfect thing to wash away his frustrations on making nearly zero progress in his quest.

Finally he decided he had splashed enough and stepped out, shaking the water from him. Whilst drying, he began to fill his water skins right to the tops, all the while wondering how far that would take him.

Soon the first traces of night began to make themselves known in the sky above, heralding the coming evening. Despite the fact that there was still some light left, enough to travel a bit further, Sophonus felt compelled to remain by the waters edge, the bath having seemed to calm his burning spirit for exploration.

"Barely a week out and I'm already getting lazy," Sophonus joked as he unpacked his things. Just as he had been, his fire was quite puny, hardly more than a couple of sparks, but at least strong enough to cook. And speaking of food, as he rooted through his satchel, he found a large hunk of meat that he had liberated from the orc patrol. And for some reason, now seemed like the time. So he stuck it on a stout stick, hung it over the flames and waited.

Since the meat had been in the possession orcs, Sophonus tried not to think about where the pieces of meat might of come from before that, but as it cooked and a tantalizing aroma began to spread, he no longer cared. For the majority of the past six days, all he had eaten was some of his dried bread and berries from some trees. Now cooking the meat, the realization of how hungry he was began to bore into him, as it sent a near maddening aroma around him. Once thoroughly cooked, he barely waited for it to cool and tore into it like a wild animal, consuming the chuck in but a few enormous bites.

A sip from one of his water skins produced a belch that all but shook the trees. He clapped a hand over him mouth swiftly, glancing about in embarrassment. Silence. He had to laugh after that, for Zarrin, right alongside his weapons, survival, and endurance training, had strived to teach him some table manners. Sophonus did not take to those lessons quite as well as the others.

_That_, Sophonus thought to himself, _is one skill I never learned properly. And probably never will._

Before much longer, darkness fell in earnest across the woods, miring the trees and all within them in shadows. Sophonus sat for a bit, tending to his gear and just killing time. Finally he could stand his idleness no more.

"I guess I should turn in," he decided aloud, "Nothing to do except stare at the fire. I'd best save my energy for more aimless wandering tomorrow."

Before doing so, Sophonus stepped back down the creek, to get one last drink before he slept. As he did, he caught sight of several flashes of silver darting to and fro beneath the water's surface. He didn't need his keen eye to see they were decent sized fish, leisurely swimming before him.

"Well, maybe I _won't_ rush off tomorrow," he mused with a smile, "I haven't had a bit of leisurely fishing in quite a while. Nor roasted fish for that matter."

His plans set; he returned to his bedroll and was in the process of kicking out his small fire, when he saw smoke. But this was clearly not his, oh no. For his fire, as pitifully small as it was, only let out thin wispy trails that almost completely vanished before it cleared the treetops. The plume that he was seeing now however was very thick indeed, a billowing ghostly white, as visible as a flaring beacon amidst the dark sky.

In other words, as jarringly obvious as it was, the people who were responsible for it were either a group of bandits, or a band of travelers who had no reservations whatsoever about giving away their position to any number of thieves or robbers. It was a simple thing to know of course, that to let out _that_ much smoke from a fire in a forest infested with cutthroats, you would either have to have no sense at all or to be extraordinarily confident.

From what Sophonus could judge, the smoke was originating from somewhere very close by, a little ways from the clearing he now sat, mired in the depths of the trees. Which meant his position was no longer safe. True it could have been witless or awfully secure travelers, but Sophonus put his money on bandits.

And even though he was not truly giving his position away with such a small fire, who's to say that there weren't some bandit's sneaking around nearby? Wishing to avoid the scenario of being discovered, which would perhaps entice a horde of bandits down around his ears as a potentially easy mark, Sophonus felt it wise to quickly and discreetly pack up his things, douse his fire and slink off in another direction, just to be sure he would avoid being found.

As he did this however, all at once he began to cease. He felt…something…in his head…a twitch almost or a…a pull. Whatever it was, something was urging him to do something a bit different. Instead of following through with his own safe and sensible course of action, he felt all but compelled to head straight for that distant fire to see who was behind it. He couldn't really explain it. All his training and logical sense told him that it would be bad to move closer to what was almost assuredly trouble, yet he felt this compulsion that desired him to do it anyways. But perhaps whatever it was went beyond mere training and the definition of logic…

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Zarrin was what one might call multifaceted; he knew much on a multitude of topics though he rarely spoke of them, and his past trials of adventure and peril were always kept shrouded in secret lest he wished to divulge them. Yet despite his complexities, he was deceptively simply as a human. Fishing was perhaps his most favorite of pastimes, merely lounging on the bank of a creek or stream, a line in the water, passing the time by napping and peacefully sitting. This somewhat lethargic pastime had rubbed off on Sophonus too, as he adopted a liking of an activity that all but demanded one to be lazy and required only the most minimum of effort. Though in truth, he did not always think so.

His attitude growing up had been enthusiastic and a tad erratic, ready to rush out and get his goal accomplished in the quickest way possible. As one might expect, such an outlook would not fare well in the languorous world of fishing. As was his nature, Zarrin had found a way to convert even a simple fishing trip into training for the aspiring young adventurer, something he did with all other aspects of the boy's teen years.

"Ye got ta learn patience boy," Zarrin had barked at him, smacking the back of his head in a passing slap, "Ye can't demand that them fish merely bite the line and sacrifice themselves cause ye want ta eat. Sometimes ye got to wait, let the enemy make the first move, an' ye got to learn to respond accordingly. Merely rushin' inta things will get ye killed right quick, believe you me."

And unlike the lesson of patience in fishing, some of his most profound words of wisdom came forth at seemingly random times. The two had been sitting near a small stream in a thicket to the north of the village, carving wooden swords for practice later and merely taking it easy. Dangling in the water before them was a pair of fishing lines, whilst a fire burned at their feet, ready to roast any fish unlucky enough to be caught.

"Yer a smart kid," Zarrin had proclaimed thoughtfully, chewing on a blade of grass as he did, "Always graspin' what I be tellin' ya right quick, figurin' problems out...But even the smartest of us need a helpin' hand. A hand from beyond yer normal senses."

Sophonus knew what this meant; Despite the wisdom seeded within, it was a roundabout way for his teacher to tell him to shut up and listen carefully. The boy ceased with his whittling, faced his master, hands planted on his knees, and leaned forward, listening intently. Seeing his pupil was all ears, Zarrin cleared his throat.

"When ye be wanderin' the world alone, as ye'll be doin' one day, they're won't be some withered old goat standin' behind ya to point ye in the right way and to clout ye on the back of the head when ye be wrong. Meanin', yer gonna need to learn ta solve yer tribulations on yer own. But therein lies the trouble; as some situations aren't really problems that ye can identify merely by lookin' at 'em. They be merely situations that need to be acted upon…ye follow?"

Sophonus had nodded, though in truth, he had no clue. A problem that wasn't really a problem that required a solution? He had no idea what that meant. Regardless, his teacher went on.

"Yer head be a fine tool to help ye solve all sorts of troubles that will require a lot of thought and patience, but you'd best believe that not everything be so easy to spot. An' if that be the case, ye'll have a devil of a time figurin' things out. Lucky for ye that there be one bit 'o advice that I can give ye ta help ye along. When in doubt, always listen to yer gut…Remember that…" The darkened eyes of the elderly man bored into his apprentice for moment or two longer, then Zarrin turned his attention back to his sword and to the lines which still yielded no fish. The boy however was sitting there in a state of utter confusion at the advice he had just received. Your gut? What sort of nonsense is that?

"Your…gut sir?" he had asked tentatively, feeling certain that his master's point had all but sailed over his head. The old man looked down at him, grinning.

"Yer gut" said he, patting his stomach. "It's what some folks call their instinct. It's hard to describe, but it's a sort of feeling that you really can't ignore; a tingle that'll tell'em what way be best. Following your gut will never lead you astray." He turned back to their motionless lines. "And right now me gut is tellin' me to move our fishin' expedition downstream, cause we ain't gettin' even a nibble here."

"Is that your instinct telling you that?" Sophonus had asked, to which the old mans stomach rumbled in reply.

"Well that an' because I'm so flippin' hungry that I can't think straight. Come on, put out the fire an' lets see if we can't find a spot where the fish ain't a sleepin'." And wouldn't you know it, once moved downstream a ways, they caught more fish than either of them could eat.

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All those years later, Sophonus believed he finally knew what his master had been talking about. In situations prior, whether it had been during his training or in the few days he had been traveling, he had solved all his problems with a keen intelligence and logical outlook on whatever his current predicament might have been. But this…it wasn't technically a problem. He was planning on packing his camp up and moving away, as to avoid being spotted by possible bandits, yet he felt it…how, he couldn't say, but he _knew_ that slipping away was the wrong course of action. He could feel what felt like an overwhelming compulsion to actually break his camp and move _closer_ to the distant fire, not further from.

It was more in his head than his gut, but he believed that this was his instinct talking. And his master had told him, it is _never_ wrong. Sophonus personally didn't really believe that mere hunches would always be one hundred percent infallible, though whether or not it _was_ true, this feeling could not be ignored. He almost felt compelled to try and dismiss it, yet he felt certain that if he did so, he would then be plagued by a near-maddening sense that something wasn't right. He decided not to risk that happening.

So after he had stowed all of his gear, all the while asking himself if he was completely mad, Sophonus started to creep in the direction of the fire. He took great care as he walked, moving slowly and carefully, trying his best to avoid any large clumps of brush. He had grown up near the woods, yet he was no rogue or ranger, at one with nature and able to walk silently among it. That would take a delicate and deft foot to accomplish, both of which he lacked.

Though despite his unhurried rate of movement, he soon caught glimpses of firelight dancing between the tree trunks, its origins even closer than he had thought. He approached, clinging to the trees for cover, stepping cautiously, wondering how close he should get, but before he even realized it, he saw his feet had carried him right to the edge of another clearing. This one was different from where he had set his camp, which had been a wide open area with no trees covering the sky. This one however had a decent open spot amongst the brush, yet the outmost branches from the surrounding trees closed together above them, blotting out the moon and stars above, yet not so thick as to trap the smoke from the fire.

The blaze in question was grand indeed, clearly proportional to the amount of smoke it was generating. It wasn't quite a bonfire but it was no ordinary campfire either, the wood piled high in the inferno, the dull roar of the dancing flames and the crackling snaps of the fuel being incinerated complementing its sheer intensity.

And from scrutinizing the figures that sat around the massive flames, Sophonus saw that he had been correct…bandits. He counted six sitting around the fire itself, and another dozen easy crowding around a substantial pile of large sacks, wooden chests, miscellaneous pieces of furniture and a veritable collection of assorted odds and ends. Loot from their latest caper no doubt, or perhaps a massed stockpile of everything they had ever stolen.

As he crouched, Sophonus began to analyze the assortment of outlaws before him. Two of the six around the fire were big brutish thug types, wearing undersized leather and as dirty as hogs, the other four were skinny lanky men, not unlike Sophonus, some older and other younger. They all looked mangy, their clothes an appallingly bad array of colors and various styles, and each had a nasty almost sinister gleam in their eyes.

Most important of all however, was the whole lot of them were very well armed. In addition to the diverse array of valuables scattered about their campsite, there was also a decent hoard of weaponry and armor, enough to fully equip an entire platoon of soldiers. As for the rest of them, a total of sixteen that Sophonus had counted, they were not as close to the fire, thus harder to discern, though it was a good bet that they were more or less the same.

As for the six around the fire, they seemed to be in the grips of griping at one another.

"Come on Darl," one of the skinny men barked, glaring daggers across the fire, "stop hoggin' all the ale, ye bloomin' pig! I be needen' to get a drink too, I've been sober fer far too long already. It ain't as though we's got a huge supply right now, thanks to yer endless guzzlin'!"

His demand for more liquor was directed towards the largest man seated around the fire, a bulging unsightly ape of a lug who was all but lounging against a fallen log, a somewhat glazed look plastered across his shaggy face. Held in the crook of one arm was a small barrel, which he held most protectively. He returned a drunken sneer to the outlaw.

"Ah shut yer bleedin' trap already," his words were slurred and unsteady, probably hardly able to see who it was who spoke with his bleary eyes, "I's ain't done with it yet. 'Sides you just had a swallow a few moments ago, so ye can hold yer water now, as I needs to drink. "

"Yer head be full of dung, ye slobberin' ass. I ain't had narry a sip, ye've been sittin' there guardin' that cask all bloody evenin', threatenin' ta chop off peoples heads if they come near! Well, now _I's_ be thirsty, so I says give it befer I lop off yer hands off."

"If ye be so thirsty an' impatient, then why not go and get some of tha wine from that trunk?"

"Oh dear," perhaps the youngest bandit chimed in, rolling his eyes, "There he goes again…"

"What's that supposed ta mean, ye little blither? I saw a case of wine in there, I did. Looked mighty fine, but since I be an ale man meself I'll leave it fer ye boys. I can't stand that nasty fruity taste."

"You never saw no wine," accused the first bandit, "and don't be tellin' me you don't like wine neither, I've seen ya down bottle after bottle of the stuff befere and you was never complaining after that. _An'_ if ye be talkin' about that uppity whore's trunk, than yer full of it. I's went through that trunk meself and there was no wine in there, so stop talkin' that rubbish an' give me that keg!"

"Yous callin' me a liar Thern?" Darl, his glassy eyes cantankerous, struggled to sit up, perhaps to appear more intimidating that the sprawled mass that he was, "I swears on me mother's warty nose there was a big case of wine in there. You must not have dug round enough. Why not check again?"

Thern, grumbling all the while, hoisted himself up and went stalking over to a fine wooden chest, with a glossy finish and polished brass hinges, and after violently kicking it open, he began to shuffle through the contents, what looked to be a mass of lady's lingerie.

"Don't see how ye could have missed it," Darl went on, more muttering to himself, "Maybe ye be gettin' a bit slow these days. An old sob like you ain't so smart no more. A bloke needs ta be sharp as a nail to be sneaky he does. Might be time fer ye ta go into retirement, leave this lifestyle to the _real_ men."

"If that's what we did," the young bandit proclaimed, thrusting a bony arm upward to the night sky above, "then I'd be doin' this job all by meself." The rest of the men around the fire fell into a burst of laughter, no doubt seeing the remark as a joke, though Darl in his less than coherent state, did not.

"Ah, shut yer mouth Elmic, lest I come over there and bust ya teeth with me fist. Ye ain't no man…yer a whoppin' huge rat that's gone an' lost 'is hair."

"A bit touchy 'bout 'is manhood, ain't he?" the second bulky brutish thug grunted, his thickset face contorted as he gave Darl a spiteful curled lip, his eyes somewhat wrathful.

"Bugger off Frugon, we all knows ye be the one lackin' the equipment an' face ta satisfy any woman. An' glower at me all ye like, ye ain't gettin' anythin' else from me. I already paid ya back double and then some, so ye may as well quit yer hounden', cause ya ain't gettin' nothin'."

"I told ya there was no wine in here, ya stupid clob!" Thern hollered, "All I sees is a big bottle of black crud. And it doesn't look like wine to me, and I never worked in no vineyard!" What he held was dark tinted glass bottle, that did possess the vague shape of a standard wine bottle, though the contents of the container seemed to be a bit darker and much thicker than wine.

"Ya that be the one!" Darl bawled back, waving a drunken hand, "I don't know if it is wine but me thinks its liquor. Its in a mighty fine bottle and I would have taken a swig or two if I didn't have me ale here. Why not take a swallow and tells us how it is. Then we can pass the bottle round and get a drink." Thern lifted the bottle up, sloshed the dark substance that lay within around a few times, took a quick sniff, then tilted his head back and took a tremendous swallow. He held that pose only for a moment before he loosed a cloud of black spray in a sputtering cough.

"Gha, that ain't wine you stupid twit! Its ink! What the 'ell are you doin' havin' me drink ink?" he began to spit and hack, trying to get his mouth clean again

"Oh, its ink is it?" Darl echoed, his words becoming more and more lax, as was his appearance, his head slowly falling, "Who…puts ink in a wine bottle…that's what I'd like to know. It didn't…taste good then? I've always wondered what ink tasted like…looks a lot like whiskey…" A few more almost indiscernible comments escaped his lips and finally, Darl was down for the night, followed by a large obnoxious snore.

One of the bandits, a really nasty looking fellow who was wearing some dark leather armor over a faded frilled ruby shirt, his eyes sharp and his greasy hair tightly braided behind him, stood and stepped over to the unconscious man, examining his condition. After giving him a little boot in the side with his foot, he relieved him of the barrel, raising the cask to his lips and took a few swallows, before passing it around to the others.

"Heh, old Darl had too much ta drink again," he chuckled before loosing a gassy belch, "Looks like one of us will be a carrin' him out of 'ere tomarrow. Whos turn is it then? Ain't it yers Frugon?"

"Oh hell no Larim," the other brute grunted, "he owns me and I ain't doin' 'im _no_ favors until he pays me back. You'd just better find someones else."

"I though he said he paid ya back?" Elmic inquired, "an' 'sides that, how much could he own you? You never had anything to loan him to begin with."

"Shut yer ugly face, ye bleedin' scab," Frugon snarled, "I'm more well-off than ye take me fer. An' if ye actually took somethin' that drunk said seriously, then it be yer own fault."

"Says the man who be swindled by 'im in the first place."

"Piss off. It be last week after we wrangled that surly fat merchant, he sweet-talked me inta givin' him a keg of ale an' all the jewelry I collected. He gave me a beauty of sword in return, but the damn thing broke clear in two, 'fore I could even use it. He owes me fer his two-faced bunkum, an' that's all there is to it." The final bandit, another lanky fellow wearing a tattered orange bandana, snickered at the story.

"Ye always be a sucker fer some sweet words from an' ugly bastard aye? Perhaps ye've got a soft spot fer our drunk lout maybe? Havin' a fling with 'im while we's not lookin?" Frugon's beefy face swelled outward, tinting red as he rose to his feet, his hand straying to his belt where a large bladed knife hung.

"Ye got somethin' ta say ta me, ye half-pint orc tookus? Think carefully befere ye answer, lest I feel the need ta cut yer throat wide open."

"Easy now ladies," Larim soothed, despite the risen level of hostility, he still looked calm and rather passive, "We's all know that Frugon 'ere be fond of the busty ladies, 'specially them pretty famin' girls that be even more innocent than ye think." There was a hearty amount agreement there, "An' if Frugon 'ere be fond of Darl's _charming_ words, then let that be between the two love-birds, aye?" He gusted some laughter after that, the others joining in, save Frugon, who merely spat into the fire but relented, sitting back down again, his face still sullen.

"So," Larim, went on, scanning the faces around him, "Who would like ta volunteer fer the job of carryin' our esteemed colleague aye?"

"Why do we even need to carry 'im anyway?" the last bandit asked, "We can just put 'im in our new cart and let him ride. Saves us the trouble anyway."

"I'd rather we drag 'im from the back of the cart by his lyin' brainless neck," Thern growled, still trying to wipe the excess ink from his lips, "Or even better, I's like ta save us the trouble by gettin' rid of 'im permanently. That lil' weasel will put a knife in our backs sooner or later, ya see if he doesn't. I says we takes him off in the wood fer them orcs to eat."

"I'll admit I's thought about it a time or two…" Larim confessed with a sly grin, though he shook his head, "but it would like be cuttin' our own arms off. We'd need someone like 'im if them orcs ever decide ta try an' take us prisoner fer their little business. Them bastards be tough an' ugly ta boot, an' no one can fight like ol' Darl 'ere."

"Yeah," the bandana man concurred, lifting a small flask, "an' no one can drink like 'im either!"

"That's right Nalen," Larim chuckled, finding a bottle of his own, "but we can still try!" Whereupon, all the men, those still conscious anyhow, lifted some manner of drink and swallowed it down, the resulting drinks prompting a chorus of various gas-related emissions that were both crude and nauseating, sparking some laughter from the group.

Sophonus sat amidst the foliage of his hiding place, watching the whole spectacle before him. During their winded and often times hard to understand conversation, Sophonus had heard many many instances of these foul men committing heinous deeds, that all but demanded he take action. He intended to do so but he needed to be cautious, for rushing out into the middle of all those bandits would be quite unwise. Twenty-two against one? Regardless of unfavorable odds though, he felt compelled to deliver justice to these wicked men.

Although he had to admit, watching these villainous criminals in their gritty lifestyle, loathsome and dishonest though it was, it had made for some interesting entertainment. Their incessant bickering, Thern drinking the ink, the colorful name-calling; it was rather comical, Sophonus having to stifle some laughter more than once.

Humor aside though, at least now perhaps he understood why he had felt it necessary to risk discovery by approaching this nest of thieves; they obviously knew something about the orc slave camp…perhaps where it was or how many orcs ran it, or even…

"Well hello there little dearie," a voice interrupted his thoughts, a callous whisper that breathed into his ear, sounding just as a cold piece of metal slid around his throat. Sophonus froze at once, having only then; after it was far too late, felt the presence of someone close by. "Havin' a bit o' fun with yer spyin' game aye? It be rude ta spy, ye know? The proper thing ta do is ta step out and introduce yerself. An' I'm a bloke that's _always_ about bein' all proper-like." Before Sophonus could answer or even run through a list of options as to what he could do, he felt something thump him on the back of the head, hard enough to make his vision swim, though he escaped from the grasp of unconsciousness.

"Oi! Larim," the rogue hollered, the men around the fire ceased their laughing and look round, "I's found a little somethin' a sneakin' around over 'ere! Looks ta me like a rat!" With a nasty kick to the back, Sophonus fell forward, tumbling out of the brush and toppled into the leaves and dirt, clearly in the light of the fire. As he lay there, trying to will his senses to return to normal, he was vaguely aware of many sets of footsteps approaching, and as he managed to lift his head a bit, he saw many pairs of boots around him.

"Aye," Larim grinned, looking down at the sprawled boy, "A fine job as always Roon." Sophonus twisted his neck around, able to stare upward, meeting Larim's unsettling expression.

"Well 'ello there lad," the bandit greeted, all but patronizing Sophonus with a small yet sinister smile, "Nice night fer a stroll…ain't it?"


	5. From Bad to Worse

**Note: For those not keeping track, I had restarted this story, separating chapters, adding in some new stuff, taking away old stuff, and cleaning up the mess that this story once was. It's better now, but again, if you have read this story before, this chapter isn't really new, its an updated version of a previous one, that I had since deleted. To those who haven't read this story yet, please enjoy and any feedback (Good or bad) is most certainly appreciated.**

**Chapter 5:** From Bad to Worse

"I's found 'im in the brush, I's did," the rogue Roon explained, exposing his crooked yellow grin proudly, "Listenin' in on ye all, from the looks of 'im."

"Was he now?" Larim inquired as he examined his captive, before glancing back to his scout, "An' what about the rest of his crew? Friends or companions or somethin'?"

"Nothin'. There be no sign of there being any more out there, an' I's been watchin' the camp likes a hawk. The only way I can figure it is he be the only one 'ere."

"Travelin' alone is he?" Larim squatted down in front of Sophonus, waving a finger back and forth, "Now that be an unwise move, says I. One never knows what…misfortunes might befall someone who hasn't the sense ta travel in a group. Ain't that right boys?" The throng of criminal wrongdoers around him chuckled at that. "Well, at least he be armed," he noted reaching out, swiftly drawing Sophonus's long sword, giving it a look over before tossing it to one of his men. "Or rather 'e _was_…" Another flurry of snickers followed that. "So…I suppose that just be leavin' ta question as ta who 'e is then?"

"The law maybe?" one suggested.

"A human workin' fer them blasted orcs?" another guessed.

"'Haps 'e be a lost guard fer another caravan?" conjectured a third.

"'e may be it at that," Larim nodded, "But at the moment, it don't really matter, I suppose. 'e be tresspassin' on our turf, that be as true as the devil…An' eavesdroppin' on us ta boot? He's rackin' up quite a list of charges by my reckonin'. But maybe we's should be askin' 'im. Oi! You! Come on; get up, we's all known that ol' Roon didn't hit ye _that_ hard!"

"Well actually I's did," Roon confessed, "Ye's always telling me that I need ta be a bit more harsh with captives Larim."

"Yah, harsh ye need ta be but that _don't_ mean I's want ya ta be knockin' a captive's brains out _befere_ I can squeeze some information from 'em. It be kinda hard ta do that when they be sprawled out in a heap. Oi get up, we knows ye ain't dead, there be no point in playin' possum! Come on me little daisy," he called in a singsong voice, standing once more, "granny's got some fresh eggs on the kettle fer ye!"

"Bloody hell," Sophonus grunted out from his prone position, his normal voice overtaken by a rough-hewn accent, not unlike the bandits he was surrounded by, "That be some welcomin' ye got there."

Sophonus had been light-headed for a few moments after the blow he had received, but he recovered quickly enough to realize he was now in some particularly dicey water. Instead of rising up and retaking his feet the moment his sense had returned to normal, he stayed quiet, even as Larim was poking him. He was trying to buy as much time as he could to devise a way out of his current predicament, for a sticky one it was. Bad as it was though, he knew better than to panic. Zarrin had told him years ago that in a dire situation, the worst thing that one could do was panic; their composure falls to pieces and a tragic and grisly end would more often than not follow.

So he began to fashion a strategy as calmly as he could, even though his heart was hammering against his ribs. 

_This is bad…_he told himself with as much coolness as he could, _but I'm not dead yet. Just…weight my options._ Unfortunately, his current options were quite limited. He was surrounded by a small horde of cutthroats and he was unarmed save his knife. Escape was impossible, they stood all around him and fighting would have been suicide. Finally, as he came to the conclusion that any violent paths of solution would most likely result in his death, he instead opted to play a good old fashion game of masquerade.

His disgruntled groan had silenced the men above him, as they saw their prey was coming around.

"Well look'it that," Larim noted, "he's got a tongue after all." He bent down once more, just as Sophonus was picking himself up, "Well then, do ye have somethin' ta say to us me lad?"

"Aye, I do," Sophonus answered, putting on his best toothy drunk's smile, "Yer scout, 'e certainly be an' effective watchdog. Just a whiff of that god-awful stink of his…Phew, the smell hit me harder than 'e did." Just as he had hoped, this derogatory comment was greeted by a gust of laughter from all the brigands, save Roon of course, who looked quite put out.

"I'll have ye know, ye sorry pile of goblin puke, that I's have a right fine smell about's me."

"Have ye taken a sniff of yerself lately, ye duffer?" Nalen asked him grinning, "None of us have said nothin' but ye have been smellin' quite rank these days. As bad as an orc I'd wager."

"Aye," concurred Frugon, "ol' Roon stinks like some bad cabbage growin' from a pile of worm guts!" The men laughed up a storm at their rogue's expense, though Larim, while he laughed, he was still eyeing Sophonus quite closely.

"A keen nose ye gots I says…but that wasn't precisely the sort o' answer I's be lookin' fer. Mayhaps ye should try again…"

"Certainly," Sophonus went on, dipping his head, "Me name be Warrik, I ain't been round these parts befere. I lived in some crummy little town northwest o' ere, outside the woods. I left there 'bout a week ago an' came in 'ere lookin' fer a crew ta join. I mean, after all, the Newcraven be all but legendary fer attractin' the worst sort of lot there is…an' sure nuff, I's found ye all." There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd, they obviously taking pleasure in being called the most feared group of outlaws in the whole Newcraven.

'Ye just decided to leave yer home, did you?" one of the bandit's asked, his tone and expression not veiling the fact that he was suspicious, "Right out o' the blue was it?" Sophonus, though rather inexperienced in the ways of adventure and the world, was not fool enough to think that a simple lie on his part was going to convince an assembly of murderous bandits to allow him into their confidence. As they had laughed at his strategically placed joke, he had hastily constructed a back-story that might entice them not to kill him. He prayed that it was solid enough.

"Hah, things rarely be so easy mate. See I was runnin' a bit o' business back home. Nothin' major, but it had ta do with importin' certain…"merchendice" let's say, the sort that ye don't want the guards pokin' round. It was off the books an' it wasn't hurtin' nobody, an' I was makin' a nice little profit. Course eventually, one of me workers ratted me out, an' I had ta take off. I'll be damned if I be spendin' the rest of me life in a dingy jail cell. So, seein' as I'm already got me hands dirty, I's got no qualms 'bout doin' a bit worse ta make a livin' enough ta scrap by. Though I'd say from the looks of things round 'ere," Sophonus nodded his head towards the mountainous heaps of loot, "That ye gents be doin' quite well fer yerselves, an' that sounds just keen ta me."

The thieves glanced about to one another, some commenting in whispers, no doubt voicing their concerns for letting this interloper join them. In the midst of this, Larim, who Sophonus had more or less judged to be their leader, was no longer looking at him and finally silenced them all.

"Ye been killin' orcs boy…?" his eyes narrowed. Sophonus followed his gaze, noticing that the bandit leader was eyeing his lost sword that one of his cronies held. His sword still had dark black splotches of dried orc blood dotted down near the hilt. And right then, Sophonus saw a well-situated opportunity to perhaps ask questions about the orc camp he had been scouring the forest for. Such information could prove most valuable, provided he could escape his current situation with his skin intact to put it to use.

"Ye noticed that did ye?" he shrugged it off, "That be true it is, a few of the stupid blighters stumbled 'cross me, thinkin' I be rounded up fer some use. Do ye know what they was on about? Slaves or some rubbish?"

"Don't ye be worryin' yer young little head 'bout that," Larim instructed, "They ain't the subject of debate 'ere. That honor belongs ta ye."

"Aye that be true," Sophonus felt a twinge of disappointment but knew better than to try and press the matter. Another opportunity could come along, so he maintained his patience. "So…?" he glanced amongst the masses around him, looking for approval, "Would ye blokes mind terribly if I was ta join ye in the hunt?" Judging from the more or less neutral looks he was getting as the lot of them contemplated the question; Sophonus felt that he was close to escaping from this collision course with danger _with_ his well-being intact.

"I's think…" Larim thoughtfully answered, "That I _would_ mind me son. So the answer be no." At this, several of men traded surprised looks amongst one another, eyebrows raised.

"Why not Larim?" Elmic asked curiously, "'e seems all right ta me…'sides, we's could always use some larger numbers against them orcs. The more we's got the less likely they'll be droppin' in on us."

"Aye, I know the value of numbers lad, an' I'd have no qualms 'bout it normally. Except," the bandit leader looked back down at Sophonus, a wide knowing grin on his face, "that our boy Warrik 'ere…'e ain't no bandit. Nor a thug, a ruffian or any other type of brigand. Actually, I's be willin' ta wager that he be one of them straight arrow blokes, the kind that won't do no wrong to nobody. Ain't that right me lad?"

Sophonus felt his stomach drop, at once wondering if he had made some manner of mistake regarding his act or story that could have tipped Larim off that he wasn't quite what he claimed to be.

"Is you sure?" one of the men asked, looking the young man up and down, "'e's a bit young I'll warrant, but…what make's ye think that?"

"Call it a gut feelin'. I's just got a notion that this boy 'ere be tryin' to hoodwink us but good. Somethin' 'bout 'im don't sit right with me." They all stared down at Sophonus, who began to feel rather exposed, as if their eyes could see right through his deceit. "What do ye say boy?" Larim pressed, "Ye care ta change yer story round o' bit?"

"Well…" Sophonus answered slowly, holding his poise, "I suppose it be true…I's never done anythin' _too_ terrible like ye fellows, an' livin' in town can make a man look soft an' all, but I's assures ye that I've got no qualms 'bout changin' meself up." Larim at once started to shake his head, still wearing that crafty smile.

"That be bullspit boy, an' what's more, we's both know it. Yer face don't have the look of someone who be slippery an' worried 'bout bein' caught with 'is illegal activities. Or the shifty sort o' presence for that matter. Ye just don't seem dark 'nuff ta be as nasty as ye claim ye are… Come on now, me hearty, time ta be comin' clean."

Despite his best efforts of deception, Sophonus's lies were not being believed, the bandit leader leaving him in a rather hazardous situation. Trying to insist any further might have made the whole crew around him angry, so there seemed little point in trying to maintain his ruse any longer.

"Alright," he dropped his charade, his accent no more, "If you must know, you're right; I'm not a cutthroat or a criminal of any kind. I'm just a traveler who's passing through these woods." At the loss of the boy's slurring accent, the majority of the men clustered around him gave a jump.

"Well I'll be jiggered," one thug scratched his jaw, "ye be right Larim, 'e be a faker sure 'nuff." Their leader tossed them a triumphant grin.

"Course I am, that be why I'm in charge 'ere. Now," Larim gave the young man before him a sickly smile, "Don't it feel better ta be all honest like? An' since yer bein' truthful with us fine blokes, 'haps ye can tell us what ye were doin' sneakin' round our camp?" He was already in trouble, Sophonus knew, so there was little point in hiding anything from here on out, as deep in his dilemma as he was there wasn't much he could do to make things worse.

"If you must know," he answered them with a straight expression, "I was wandering around these woods and saw the smoke from your fire, so I came to investigate. And seeing that you all were bandits, I was trying to devise the best way to rout you and your thugs operations." The whole band of ruffians began to scratch their heads, trading puzzled looks, no doubt unable to make sense of what he said. Larim however seemed to follow.

"Rout me an' me thugs ye says…why by my reckonin' that would make ye a hero or somethin'," the bandit ringleader surmised, "Well, if that don't beat the bush twice over. Ye hear that boys?" he hooted, rising up to address his men, "We's got a bloody hero in our midst, a champion of right an' justice an' all that other swill. We should be feelin' quite honored I'd say." They all began to yuck it up, slapping their legs and leaning on one another, laughing.

"I knew 'e be trouble Larim," Roon cackled, "As soons as I sees 'im, I knew 'e was up ta no good!"

"If 'e be so righteous an' all that," one thug asked him, "Then why was ye workin' ta join with us? Ain't that 'gainst yer…code or somethin'?"

"Yes," Sophonus responded plainly, "I'm more the sort who tries to get rid of bandits, not join them. That was just a ploy; I was simply looking to avoid trouble."

"Ah," Larim flashed him a knowing and unsettling smile, "Then that means that ye _do_ know that yer in more than just a mite o' danger aye? Ye had a suspicion that we "common brutes and criminals" don't take too kindly ta ye hero types, babblin'' 'bout yer justice an' peace. An' ye figured if ye be caught that we wouldn't act like moral upstandin' citizens o' society, wishin' ye well an' sendin' ye on yer merry way?" At these words, Sophonus felt his hopes sinking.

'Something like that yes. So I assume then that there isn't much hope of you letting me go unhindered?"

"Aye, ye catch on quick ye do. We're not the kindest lot round these parts, an' lettin' anyone go, 'specially a heroic lad like yerself, well that be out o' the question."

Sophonus had more or less expected this; they'd have to be crazy to just let him walk away, though he was still hoping for it nonetheless. And since his subterfuge had failed as well, he was running out of ideas that could save his life. He did, however, have something else he wanted to try. His last idea actually.

"I see. If that's the case, then I demand that you divulge any information you have on the orcs that take slaves in these woods." The crowd passed a glance around before once more the whole lot of them began to howl with laughter, doubling over and belting out their gusting chuckles.

"Oi, would ye look at the pair of grapes on this boy?" Thern snickered, "Makin' demands of us an' all that! Quite forward 'e is."

"Aye that 'e certainly is" Larim concurred heartily with good humor, before looking back to his captive, "An' what interest be they ta ye? Lookin' ta go volunteer yer services?"

"As you noticed," Sophonus clarified, "I've killed orcs recently. They were a patrol out scouting and with them the information that they were based somewhere in these woods _and_ that they were stealing people to be sold into slavery. Being a _hero_ as you called me, I was looking for their base so that I might shut them down. And since I overhead you all voicing your dislike for them, as they are attacking you constantly, perhaps we can make a trade."

"What ye be sayin' boy?" one tough demanded with a leery eye.

"I'm unarmed and surrounded," Sophonus answered him, looking back around at the circle of eyes, "and I don't feel real confident with getting out alive. So I may as well compromise. If you men return my sword and allow me to leave with whatever information you know about those orcs, then I'll see to it that they're forever out of commission."

"Take 'em on?" Thern asked with haughty skepticism, "You? Do ye even know what yer facin' Mr. Hero?"

"I have an idea yes."

"That be a load of dung," Roon guffawed whilst picking his nose, "ye ain't got even a bleedin' clue. Those slimy bastards be brutal an' nasty, far more than a puny little bugger like ye can handle, that be as true as torkwood."

"And you care…_why_?" Sophonus countered, "If they are _so_ terrible and attacking their compound _is_ suicide, then I'm sure it won't really bother you boys all that much if I _do_ end up dead."

"Aye…" Nalen agreed, rubbing his stubble-covered chin, "that be a point, sure 'nuff. Either way, we's stands ta gain. I's says we do it. What says ye boss? Sounds like a mighty good deal." Larim was quiet, staring down at Sophonus intently. Finally…

"I says that it be indeed a temptin' offer lad…but I's think it'd be safer ta _not_ let ye leave 'ere. We's do hate them blasted orcs; every once in a while they's get real uppity with us, thinkin' ta capture me men an' I. We fight 'em off but always loses some men. Havin' them gone would make our job easier, but I's ain't so stupid as ta think that a bleedin' respectable an' righteous lad such as yerself would just go off an' leave us to our whims. The moment we let ye go, I'd wager that ye'd start schemin' on how ta bring us ta justice or some such rubbish, mayhaps snitchin' us out ta some border guards."

And just like that, Sophonus's last idea was shattered to pieces, leaving him right back on square one. He contemplated trying to reassure the group that he had no intention of betraying them, but he had a hunch that it would fall upon deaf ears. After all, if these men had had enough integrity to trust a man's word, it was doubtful they would have resorted to highway robbery, so he wouldn't waste his breath.

"I see there is little fooling you Larim," he relented once more, "And here I thought all bandits were brainless oafs...While it _is_ my goal to eliminate those orcs, wherever they may be, I wouldn't…no, really I _couldn't_ walk away and let men like you to continue to ply your vile practice upon innocent travelers." At this, Larim's previously sly humorous countenance faded; replaced by a dark stormy expression as his grin changed to a glower. He angrily spat at the ground, giving Sophonus an evil eye.

"Ye think yer so righteous don't ye? That yer tha bleedin' avatar fer good an' decency aye? An' that we just be the scum o' the earth? Well, maybe we is. We's ain't got no illusions boy, we's know what we do an' we ain't sorry for it. We be murderin' thieves an' we's don't care a spit 'bout heroics an' integrity, an' ye can stick ye honor down ye throat an' gag on it. We's only care 'bout makin' some gold an' survivin'. The world ain't a kind place to us normal folks, we's got ta make do without all them fancy things that makes life comfortable fer spoiled little adventurers like ya."

"Normal folk don't go around robbing and killing innocent people," Sophonus told him levelly, a small flicker of self-righteousness ignited within him and he continued hotly, "You're just pathetic desperate men that are too wretched and bitter to find a place in this world so you've resorted to becoming petty criminals that steal and kill for the sick pleasure of it. Trying to pass on the explanation that your lives have been difficult is only a miserable excuse for your impatience and weakness towards wealth and it doesn't justify all the lives you've destroyed and all the misery you've caused."

Sophonus was well aware that what he had just said was probably going to make Larim and his cronies irate and give them the urge to act violently. Yet he couldn't really stop himself from saying it; the basic principles, what he lived for, what had been within him from his days of imagining glory and were further emphasized by his teacher for years were not something to be dismissed whenever danger strikes. Regardless, he still silently cursed himself for simply blurting it out.

And as he knew it would, Larim's already displeased expression only grew angrier.

"That's quite the tongue ye got on ye boy," the thug glared darkly down at him, "An' I's thinks I've had 'nuff talkin' for one evenin' so it seems that the time has come fer us ta part ways in tha permanent fashion. I suppose then that just leaves what's ta be done with ye then. What say ye boys?" Larim called to his men, "What shoulds be done ta the _hero_?" The whole crowd began to belt out their own brutal suggestions in a chorus of grating callous voices.

"Let's chop 'im ta pieces," one hooted.

"Let's string 'im up, so 'is corpse can decorate our camp!" shouted another.

"Nay, let's tie some rocks ta his feet an' throw 'im in the creek!" suggested a third.

"Nah, I's got it!" the unsightly Frugon trumpeted, showing off his vile teeth in all their revolting glory, "Let's toss 'is skinny carcass inta the fire an' watch 'im burn ta ashes!"

"Aye Frugon, now that be an original idea if ever I's heard one," Larim agreed, "Inta the fire? We's ain't done that befere." He then glanced down at Sophonus. "We's may be yer typical bloody-thirsty bandits, but even we's likes ta stretch our creative muscles every now an' again. Okay," he pointed to two of the ruffians, "Ye boys escort our righteous guest ta 'is final good deed. 'e's gonna be a real hero in usin' 'is bones ta keep us warm tonight!" They cawed some more as the two seized their captive's arms tightly, waiting from him to try and struggle free. He didn't, he merely hung there limp. The two exchanged glances.

"Hurry it up now," Larim instructed, "we's ain't got all night! An' me bum be needin' a bit o' warming." The men shrugged and began hauling the boy to his feet and began to drag him towards the roaring blaze.

Sophonus watched the dancing flames, feeling the heat as he was drawn closer. He was simply at a loss as to what to do, for even as sharp as he was, he couldn't think of any other means of escape from this dire situation, save for violence, which unfortunately had a very low survival rate attached to it. He _did_ know however that he had no intentions of dying in such a sadistic and blood-chillingly way. And only mere seconds before he was to be callously thrown into the inferno before him, only two choices remained. One was to admit defeat and to suffer a horrid end of being incinerated for the bandit's amusement. Or fight and try to escape. Not even worth deliberating.

_Alright,_ he gathered himself, _no choice._

And in a moment he was moving

Sophonus's limp body suddenly stiffened and his right leg shot out and swung towards the brute on his right, delivering a stern kick squarely to the back of his knee. The bandit _was_ expecting retaliation, though he was waiting for Sophonus to try and yank his arm free, not to strike him with a sudden kick. The blow landed soundly and the thug started to stumble, his grip lost on Sophonus's right arm as he was flailing to maintain his balance, fruitless as he went toppling backwards into a heap.

Wasting not a moment, Sophonus brought his now free right fist around, delivering a swift yet solid punch to his other subjugator's face, catching him in a moment of stunned perplexment, the man loosing a curse as blood sprayed from his now askew nose and he released his hold as well. The moment his hands came away from the boy's left arm, Sophonus grabbed for the sword at the man's belt, drawing it out with a crisp cold ring, while also dismissing the stunned brute with a knee into his stomach, sending him down to join his comrade.

This was all done as swiftly as a bolt of lightning illuminates the sky and then vanishes; the rest of the thieves scarcely seeing what happened. One moment their men were dragging the self-righteous young _hero_ towards the fire, the next they were sprawled across the ground and the kid was armed and scanning their ranks with calculating eyes.

Though taken aback, the pack of killers wasted no time in drawing their own steel with dark expressions, closing in and surrounding the young man whose back was towards the great fire. Their boss though, he was wearing a sickening smile, twirling his own blade.

"Oi ye got a lot o' spunk fer such a little runt. What be yer plan now, genius? Ye gonna fight _all_ of us are ye?" Sophonus gave a small smile in return, knowing full well that he was probably not going to walk away from this. Resigned to whatever came, he lifted the sword and swallowed.

"If need be."

"Should've just jumped inta the fire…" Larim was shaking his head, "it would have been easier fer ye, sure enough. Less painful anyways, cause I's thinks we's _now_ in the mood for a bit 'o dismemberment this evenin'." He glanced among his crew, before leveling his sword at the young man. "Lads…rip 'im apart."

But what responded to Larim's cruel demand was not a collective cluster of grunts and sinister laughter, but a chorus of chillingly piercing howls that sounded from all over the place. And moments later, the chaos descended.

Out from the woods surrounding the camp came a crash of snapping branches and quaking leaves as the woods seemed to explode outward, and emerging from all points of the compass came a horde of crazed roaring monstrosities.

They looked to be some sort of savage wolf/dog, loping in on all fours. However, their extraordinarily massive size betrayed the fact that they were neither. Their heads were up to most of the men's waists, their whole hunched bodies were immense and solid; the way they walked spoke more of a primate yet their long snouts and pointed ears were clearly that of some kind of canine breed. Of what sort, that was unclear.

In seconds, no less than ten of the things had swarmed into the bandit's hideout, snarling wildly and gnashing their crooked yet nonetheless jagged teeth at the cluster of men. The ruffians had no clue as to what was going on, most turning only to be knocked down by a pouncing creature and to have their faces mauled or their throats slashed by the gaping jaws of the enraged pack.

Others reacted a bit better, turning to face the creatures with terror-filled eyes and half-hearted attacks. Larim for instance made a wild panicked swing at his approaching assailant, though his fright made his aim less than true as it merely glanced off some sort of protruding bone, like tusks, from the beast's neck.

And that single attack was all Larim managed as the thing lunged, swiping one of its hind legs, raking its claws across his chest, slicing open his tunic, his shirt, and his flesh. Even as he began to scream in pain, the wolf-like creature stretched its neck out, clamped its jaws around his right leg and bite down, the brittle snap of bone was accompanied by the meaty rip of skin. Larim's scream turned into a high wailing shriek as he fell back, arms flailing madly. No sooner had he hit the earth, a second one leapt atop him, its wide mouth closing around his entire head. With a sound too horrible to describe, the bandit leader's head imploded and that was the end of Larim.

And there in the firelight, crouched amidst the ensuing carnage, staring out with wide eyes was Sophonus, having a few precious moments to gape as the invading monstrosities proceeded to massacre and devour the roving band of thugs, for it was his good fortune that they didn't seem to notice him, they seemed far too busy tenderizing their feast. And in that time, he was able to examine the new arrivals with scrutiny.

The lot of them were covered with matted grubby russet hair, no doubt caked with mud, feces, blood, and other foul substances. Their legs, both front and back, were very bizarre. Their back legs were bent, coiled up under their bodies and rife with bunches of corded muscle, tapering down into wide heavy paws. The way they carried themselves spoke of having incredible running and springing power. Strange as they were, the hind legs were even weirder, having an almost humanoid look to them. True they were still covered in hair yet instead of having paws; they had fingers, each of which tapered off into claws. As if this wasn't unique enough but their front legs were disproportional to their back, far longer and as such had their hands dragging the ground, like an ape.

Their heads and connectively their faces could only be spoken of as frightful. Colossal wolf heads with broad snouts and sharp pointed ears were perhaps the most normal thing about them. Their mouths were enormous, their lower jaws hanging down to expose their vast maws, decorated with vile mold color teeth. Jutting from out of their necks were curves of bone, comparable to ram horns, protruding forward like a misplaced set of tusks, mayhaps serving as some sort of neck guard. Their eyes were a bestial yellow; watery and flailing madly, perhaps a sign of their bloodlust; each one almost bulging with scarlet veins. Like wolves and dogs they too had a long hair covered tail, though it was easily four spans in length, like a cat's, sweeping through their air with fervent excitement.

Bizarre to behold though they may have been, they had no trouble to speak of laying waste to the twenty some odd bandits in mere moments. Sophonus was very thankful indeed to have eluded their notice as he had but he knew that he needed to slip away immediately before one decided to become aware of his non-mutilated presence.

And naturally, right then, one of the things came loping by, holding some poor sod's leg in its mouth, munching vigorously, when one of those bloodshot eyes rolled around, fastening upon the lone surviving adventurer. Its reaction was instant; it dropped its prize before bearing its fangs with a snarl and making a wild jump towards him. Their hefty size hid well the fact that these beasts were deadly quick. Sophonus was fortuitous indeed to have been spared in the first few seconds of the attack; otherwise he might have been paralyzed with fright as so many of the bandits had been. But the shock had passed and he was able to react in time to save his hide.

He crouched and rolled across the dirt just a hair ahead of the straining pair of pointy yellow teeth, sweeping up a fallen sword as he regained his feet. No sooner had he risen up though, he turned only to stare square into another cavernous maw, being struck by the sheer stink of carrion, blood, and the gods knew what else. Another had caught sight of his nimble roll and was leaping upon him, as it seemed that none of them were wasting any time at all trying to end his existence. Before he was shredded by giant claws and fangs, his sword flipped and with a blinding thrust, his blade pierced the beast's upper chest, hopefully striking home at the creature's heart. Regardless if his aim was true or not, the fiendish thing loosed a strident wail as it went sailing past him and crashing into the dirt, kicking its legs madly, slobbering foam and blood.

The one blow was enough to drop the frightful monster for good, which was fortunate, but the howl it uttered as it writhed in the grips of death signaled each and every one of its cohorts to its fate, tearing their furiously blazing eyes from their meal and locked onto Sophonus and his blood-soaked blade, which was quite unfortunate. Sophonus could only scan them with apprehension, knowing that besides they all seemed in the grips of a blood-seeking madness, striking down one of their own wasn't going to sit well with them. True enough, the whole bunch of them, now numbering thirteen began to growl as one, their twenty-six luminous bulging eyes fastened upon him unflinchingly.

And then he fled. Wasting no words, he whirled and ran, all but diving behind a nearby tree, crashing through a number of tall shrubs and ran full tilt into the shadows of the woods. He had thought his trouble with bandits was terrifying…but this…he would have _gladly_ taken the cutthroats plus tenfold than to deal with those…things. Deep down, he felt like an enormous coward from running from a battle, but in truth, there was little dishonor in taking flight. Better to escape and live to fight another day than to stay, fight, die, and get eaten. For against such odds, a fight would likely have been suicide and that was regardless if he was facing common monsters like orcs or…whatever sort of abomination he had beheld.

_Wolves…_his mind racing as swiftly as himself…_wild dogs…worgs…werewolves…_Sophonus didn't know what such things were and he didn't _really_ care. For it was a simple fact that _knowing_ what he faced was going to do precious little to help him stay alive. At the moment, all that was keeping his wellbeing intact was running for his life and even then, that didn't seem to be working too well. For even as he went tearing through the darkness of the forest, stumbling over stones and wading through bushes, he could hear them; the crashing of their pursuit as well as their growls and harsh rasping breath behind him, growing louder and more terrible. It was no surprise that the things were gaining on him; he was stumbling about in near blackness, propelled forward only by fear and it was luck alone that he hadn't yet tripped over a hidden bolder or ran flat out into a tree.

And just as they were nearing striking distance, Sophonus's luck granted him a literal glimmer of hope. Filtering through the leaves and branches that loomed above him, was a flicker of moonlight in front of him, that shown down to illuminate a single limb of a young tree, low enough for him to reach. In truth, he almost missed it; catching its faint silhouette a sheer moment before he dashed past it. And with his reflexes as honed as a knife due to raw terror, he leapt for it, arms reaching and hands straining out, hoping, praying, pleading to all the deities he had ever known that he didn't miss.

He felt as though he had been floating in midair for centuries before finally feeling his hands wrap around the coarse bark and once again, with naught but pure instinct, with all the strength he could muster, he pulled himself up with a titanic heave. Balancing onto the sturdy branch, he caught sight of another, wreathed in rich jade leaves and he dove for it. Upon landing, he immediately went for another. He didn't even look down, he shimmied up that tree, climbing ever higher, putting as much distance between him and the ground where his pursuers were lurking.

_Please don't let them be able to climb trees,_ he was beseeching to himself, _please don't let them be able to climb trees…_Finally, after ascending up thirty spans or so, he steeled himself and glanced down. They were climbing the trees. Though climb wasn't quite right; their humanoid front arms were grasping the trunks, their claws tearing into the bark, hoisting themselves up a little at a time. Staring down, he saw the cluster of yellow eyes advancing upon him again. They couldn't move up as fast as he could, but they were coming after him and soon they would be taking snaps at his feet.

Sophonus glanced about the foliage, looking for something, anything, that could extend his lifespan, even if only for a few minutes. What his eyes settled upon was a branch from an adjacent tree, a bit lower than the one he was perched on. It was almost twelve spans away but the thought of missing and falling thirty spans to the ground didn't exactly terrify him more than the fiends crawling up to get him. So he jumped for it, making the distance with ease and slamming into the tree trunk with almost enough force to knock out his breath. He could hear them, snarling their frustration, awkwardly trying to decide whether to keep climbing or to go back down. He was not going to wait for them to choose, already making a dive for another branch.

He kept jumping, from tree to tree, slowly heading back down. He wasn't safe on the ground, true, but he was no safer in the tree and on the ground he might find something that could save his hide.

As he dropped from the last branch and when his feet hit the solid earth, he was off running again, heading back to the bandit camp. Through the holes punched into the wall of vegetation by the horrible dog-creatures, he could see the blazing bonfire that sat in the middle of the clearing ahead. Behind him was the maddening thrashing of brush as the things leapt from their perches, hit the earth with a collection of thuds and started after him again.

Bursting back into the camp, he got a good eyeful of the carnage, twenty-two dead men, mangled and severed limbs, stains of blood over the dirt and their vast piles of loot. The sight of the massacre, seeing the bulging eyes of terror on the few intact faces that yet remained was enough of a boost to force Sophonus onward, running through the slaughter and crashing back into the woods. Once more moving away from the fire, he found himself again stumbling nearly blind, reducing the speed of his flight. However with his brief foray into the flora above, he had gained valuable time in widening the gap between himself and his chasers.

At least that's what he thought, prompting him to steal a look behind.

_No…_he almost wailed aloud, _No, no, no, no, no…_They were right behind him, the whole pack having closed the minimal distance he had put between them, now right on him, a scant few dozen spans behind them.

_Keep running…_his mind was screaming, _I'll figure something out…there's got to be something…keep running…I'm not going to give…_

Even as he was ordering himself to keep up his fruitless attempt for survival, he turned his eyes back to the front to continue his flight and his running came to an immediate end as he ran full steam into a tree, robbing him of his breath and the use of his legs. Eyes rolling and with the world spiraling madly, he crumpled to the ground in a stunned heap. _I seem to have a knack for doing this,_ he thought with dire humor. As he lay there, his vision darkening, watching his death approaching with copious amounts of howling and slobbering, he tried to tell himself that his few days of wandering had been worthy of an adventurer, that it hadn't been wasted. He didn't really believe himself though.

As he was distracted, trying to fill his last moments with forced thoughts of self-worth, he was barely able to notice the monstrous creatures. They had been charging towards him, eyes focused solely upon their target. But as they drew closer, they seemed to slow down, coming to a skidding halt, others veering off to the left and right, their howls changing pitch and their growls tapering off. What followed was a cacophony of noise, as what sounded like a full-scale riot was taking place all around the spot where he lay. There was howling, snarling, yelping, screaming and even though his head still spun, Sophonus almost could feel the ground quaking, even though he could see nothing but shadows.

And just as he was swallowed by the dark, a sound ripped through his ears, something that blared, something that rattled him down to the bones, something that was…terrible.


End file.
